Hollywoodland.
Four deep, the pack of snorting street beasts in blue lumber past. Out the lair doors into the Black
They are hungry.
I’m shackled to the wooden bench, facing the wall close enough to rest my forehead. I don’t. Greasy face stains of my predecessors and the odd fleck of dried blood discourage me. Cuffs chewing my wrists, I imagine my hands as balloons, purple behind me.
………………
An unseen argument at it’s apex falls eerily and abruptly silent. Behind me, pleading. Soul crushed punk, fresh meat is tossed into the feeding cage. I will myself into the sanctuary of my mind.
….i’m ok…i’m ok…i’m o…
Magnificent blue and red lights splash across my face from outside the lair doors, invading my closed eyelids, hunting me down where I hide in the recesses of my mind.
………………
I beg two shadowy faces for help. Ego-Tyler pretends not to know me. Fingers steepled, id -Tyler gives me
laughter.
I manage a fingernail on my last vestige of sanity but I am effortlessly dragged back into the grim of the Now.
She-jackal slinking past my nape
…the scent of my fear whipping the bitch into orgasmic frenzy.
“cri-miii-NAAAAAALLLLS!!” She moan/howls.
I am fucked.
Tagged: Creative Memoir, Short Story
