Whip It Good

There were a over a hundred empty artillery shells littering our living room floor in the aftermath of our war on drugs. We sat around in a big circle passing the gun, loading it, and firing.

"Tink-Tinkle-Tink-Tink," went the music in the background, over the low hum.

Melissa was sitting beside me on the couch. She had finished her turn, and I was taking mine. My head was buzzing, plinking, tingling. She turned to me in a slow movement and her mouth opened a little and a deep voice came out that echoed in my tunnel ears.

"Y ou go t th aat fro og in yo ur thr oat yy et ? ?" she asked, and we both broke into deep laughter. *tink-tink-tink*

I did. Things are slower when they're nearly frozen. Even sound.

I put the gun to my mouth and emptied the last chamber into a terminal breath. In twenty seconds it would all be over.

And then I would clean up the kitchen.


Written by Rachael Sage Payne ©

<< back   next >>