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A chronic illness, an unsettling burden.
Green and blue pills hidden under the veil of her skin.
Her name on the bottle's tag, 'Julie Molina' .
Eyes fixed on the faded colours that lay on her palm, before she gulped them down.
He says that the pills help her, save her. She says that all he says is bullshit.
Dark eyes upon the dark house across the street.
He says that he wants to protect her from herself, from her own emotions. She says that he will never understand her, her emotions.
An enigmatic grin and blood under her nails. Scratches on her arm. Blood on her white shirt.
The light turned on, the clock announcing another hour had passed. 2 o'clock, still on the window.
Movement in the other house, the light shadowing the boy from the house across the street.
A car passed between the two houses, trail from the wheels marking the road.
They made a noise that pierced her ears.
Or was it a scream?
Heart pounding, blood on her skin.
Another sound, a cat.
Or was it a scream?
The lights went out, scratches on her other arm.
She stumbled, the bottle with her antidote smashing against the wooden floor.
Glass breaking.
Or was it the window?
Blood on her hands, her flesh wounded by the glass on the floor.
Blood on the floor.
A scream, she swore she heard a scream.
Blood on her hands.
Glued eyes on the dark house, second room second floor. 2. 2. Two men. 2. 2. Two victims. 2. 2. Two gunshots. 2. 2. Two screams. 1. One for help. 1. One for death. 1. One survivor.
Blood on their hands.
☾
"Don't cry 'cause there's a pill for everything. Take this one, wash it down and you'll be fine."
