I need to get a picture, because right now I have no face.
Nothing happens in this world that makes sense. Slowly the mental stability is dwindling like it always does this time of year, but still I can write, so I'm not dead. I probably should continue this much more, but not tonight. I'm dragging. Feedback is always appreciated, if you happen to read.
in utero during the second coming
The truck bound down the road, dust billowing behind it like Princess Diana's wedding train. Daddy keeps both his hands on the wheel and doesn't let go. Sweat builds up on his brow, but his eyes never avert from a spot in the dead sky, color of a baby goat still in the sack. The angel in the passenger seat bleeds from a pipe sticking out of its throat and although I can't see it I know Daddy pushes the car towards Doc's house. Doc would know what to do, he fixes animals after all. I sit crushed between Daddy's elbow and the angels broken wing, blood pours on my shoulder and my white dress, pretty like snow, ruined. Daddy tells me to put my hands over the wound in order to keep the blood from spitting on me like it is, but I tell him I like the blood, it's cool and silver like a unicorn's mane. He tells me that if I don't hold the wound and this angel doesn't make it, mommy might be eaten by the devil's friends.
They might do the same to Billy as well, he says.
But Billy is a rabbit, how could they hurt a bunny, bunnies are nice animals.
The devil and his friends don't care how nice you are, they are hungry and will eat anything, he says.
Why can't they eat trees and houses, then?
They aren't living like you and I, he says.
I push my hand against the angel's neck and the blood seeps under my hand, but it slows down. She gasps and sputters like Granpappy's old truck, when he cranks the handle in front of the truck to start it. She tries to flex her wings and stretch, but stops with a clenched face like Maxo when he's mad at the dog. Daddy lifts a hand and places it on the angels shoulder.
Ssh, we're going to get you fixed up, but you gotta relax and trust us, he says.
Tears run down the angel's face and it nods to him. We pull within sight of Doc's house and I lean in and kiss the angel's cheek.
We're almost there and then Doc will fix you up real well so you can fight the devil's friends, again. I say.
Nothing happens in this world that makes sense. Slowly the mental stability is dwindling like it always does this time of year, but still I can write, so I'm not dead. I probably should continue this much more, but not tonight. I'm dragging. Feedback is always appreciated, if you happen to read.
in utero during the second coming
The truck bound down the road, dust billowing behind it like Princess Diana's wedding train. Daddy keeps both his hands on the wheel and doesn't let go. Sweat builds up on his brow, but his eyes never avert from a spot in the dead sky, color of a baby goat still in the sack. The angel in the passenger seat bleeds from a pipe sticking out of its throat and although I can't see it I know Daddy pushes the car towards Doc's house. Doc would know what to do, he fixes animals after all. I sit crushed between Daddy's elbow and the angels broken wing, blood pours on my shoulder and my white dress, pretty like snow, ruined. Daddy tells me to put my hands over the wound in order to keep the blood from spitting on me like it is, but I tell him I like the blood, it's cool and silver like a unicorn's mane. He tells me that if I don't hold the wound and this angel doesn't make it, mommy might be eaten by the devil's friends.
They might do the same to Billy as well, he says.
But Billy is a rabbit, how could they hurt a bunny, bunnies are nice animals.
The devil and his friends don't care how nice you are, they are hungry and will eat anything, he says.
Why can't they eat trees and houses, then?
They aren't living like you and I, he says.
I push my hand against the angel's neck and the blood seeps under my hand, but it slows down. She gasps and sputters like Granpappy's old truck, when he cranks the handle in front of the truck to start it. She tries to flex her wings and stretch, but stops with a clenched face like Maxo when he's mad at the dog. Daddy lifts a hand and places it on the angels shoulder.
Ssh, we're going to get you fixed up, but you gotta relax and trust us, he says.
Tears run down the angel's face and it nods to him. We pull within sight of Doc's house and I lean in and kiss the angel's cheek.
We're almost there and then Doc will fix you up real well so you can fight the devil's friends, again. I say.