There's Something Wrong With Mary-How Mary Became
Nausea rolled in my belly as I heard the shuffled footsteps behind me.
Please sir. Just. Go. Away.
He didn't. They never did. They become imperceptible of body language, deaf of inclinations of the voice, and uncaring if they can do either.
My legs felt light and with wing they took off, before my so called "rational" mind could parry.
Flight had always been my preference. Fight was dangerous, and risky and also risqué somehow.
But I felt like giving a little danger back that night.
Someone would see. Someone would notice. Somebody, oh somebody, would care.
I screamed. Again, again and again.
Silence.
The prayers whispered under my breath, and screamed in my brain went unanswered.
Radio silence.
Static pain pulsed through my body as his limbs captured mine, folding me away into a secret place.
This was happening.
This wasn't a crime pod. This wasn't an online article, at least not yet.
I fought. Please know that I fought. But my body did not have the ire that my spirit had.
Pierced through, and through, and through.
I'm dying. This is it.
Light faded, and the ink of Death signed my name.
But I was still in my body?
I opened my eyes, as strength returned to my limbs. I was alone now.
And something was happening. Something else.
There was a hunger in my belly I'd never felt before.
I laughed. It ripped up my belly and scratched at my throat.
He came back. Stared at me shocked, disgusted.
My bones twisted.
Now he is nothing but
Viscera.
