Juicy little lamb, the pleasant voice rumbles, I won’t hurt you.
Lamb shakes and cowers into themself. The voice lies. The voice contorts. Musn’t listen. Must never listen. The voice is danger. Lamb bites down on their lips.
The voice continues, Juicy little lamb, please come out. It soothes, tone like water flowing over smooth stone. Pouring, cascading, dripping into Lamb’s ears and curling inside their brain. Beckoning, begging, coaxing.
Lamb cowers and hides within themself even more. They clamp their hands over their ears. Musn’t. No. Lamb will not go.
Please, juicy little lamb, I would never hurt you.
Lamb bites and digs down with their teeth. No, no, musn’t go. Must never go. The voice lies. The voice always lies.
Please, “Lamb, you need help, please open the door!”
Lamb shakes their head vigorously, teeth gnashing against their lips. They grip their head and dig in their skull. Cracking, splintering, scooping everything out. Lamb falls to the floor and crawls to the farthest, and darkest, corner.
Juicy little lamb, please “let me help you!”
Lamb refuses to listen. The voice always lies.
|Originally written: March 03, 2022
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Choice Cuts
Short StorySweetest Decay, Series 1 A collection of my short stories I first published in my writing blog, Sweet Decay.
