Exit Wounds

PROLOGUE

My chest is scraped hollow-

Gutted like a fish, I can’t-

Breathe, I don’t want-

I-

I don’t know why I came here. It seemed like hours since I last stemmed the flow of my bleeding thoughts, and now I could barely keep my hands on the trolley. I knew the song playing through the Wall-Mart speakers, but it was like trying to push the north and south ends of a magnet together. Why is this important?

I can’t stop to think about it. I’ll start bleeding again.

I started to push the trolley down the cereal aisle. The pictures on the covers looked better than what was inside. Such a clever trick. Make it look good, and then disappoint you with mediocre flakes. Did I even need cereals? Would I start eating breakfast again?

Honestly, I really liked cereals. ‘Frosties’ was a more favourable thought than the other option.

I liked the way my feet made squeaky sounds as I dragged them zombie-style down the next couple of aisles. I liked stepping over the cracks and pretending they were pits of lava. I liked seeing the look on the woman’s face when she saw me acting like a child.

I couldn’t remember his face. I couldn’t.

I’m seeing red again.

I thought of the gutted fish down at the end of the supermarket, void-less eyes rolling in their sockets, un-crying yet so sad. Did it feel the spear puncturing its body as it died? Did its friends watch?

“Hey Miss?” spoke the fish-killer. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” I replied. I was.

The fish-killer looked uncomfortable for a minute, fidgeting on the balls of his feet. He didn’t look like a murderer, and I was starting to see blood again, but luckily he spoke. “Miss, you’re crying. Can I call someone?”

I wheeled away from him then, wiping away the cracked remnants of my mascara. I didn’t usually wear makeup, so I wasn’t sure why I had worn it now. A stupid idea. He never liked when I wore makeup though, because I was lovely just the way I was. That’s what he said.

The gormless bean-aisle woman had migrated to the frozen section, and was pondering over regular peas or minted peas. She picked up the ones on the left and the baby must’ve disagreed, because he starting crying his lungs out. Drool dripped out of his open mouth and onto the shop floor, but the mother didn’t notice.

I wanted to leave really badly. I wish I hadn’t come here. But it would look strange if I didn’t buy something soon, so I slid open the doors, and picked up the first thing I could see. Sweet waffles. Frozen. A Japanese brand I could never find before, but it was familiar to me.

Very familiar.

Gutted, like a fish…Can’t breathe…scrapedscrapedscraaaaapeeeee-

The walls started to melt then - everything was melting, but the waffles stayed in my hand. I didn’t know if I was too hot or too cold, but suddenly the oxygen wasn’t oxygen anymore, but the baby was still crying and someone was yelling at me to stop. Stop what? Stop melting?

I think I’m holding a baby’s hand.

I try to conjure his face as the baby’s crying gets louder and louder, but I keep coming up blank, so I just clutch the hand holding mine even harder. The crying just gets louderlouderloudercan’trememberhisfaceanymore. I just want the crying to stop. My arms wrap around a podgy belly and warm skin and-

I throw it.

And the crying stops.