The pipe bears down on me slowly; I duck and narrowly miss it. It buries itself in the ground. It’s reddened exterior flakes off like tiny bits of rust, showing the surface underneath to be a faded green. Jack and Jill are here: cowering, haggard children who clutch at catfood cans and hiss warily at me. “No space—fuck off! You’ll just get him mad at us!”
I try to reach for them with a painted arm, but the stripes peel off and become like cloth in texture—a jailbird uniform—and finally crumble away to grey dust. My children scurry off…I know not where…they’re gone.
I’m alone, stranded on my piece of tarp with no escape. I’m petrified, I can’t move…the pipe comes down again, its red cover restored, and although it inches through the air so slowly I can’t do anything to stop it. I can’t flee. It hits—and keeps pressing down, tearing through me until there is no resistance and it touches the tarp.
Blue Fly’s voice is at my ear, repeating the words that concluded every beating.
“Remember prawnie—no matter who buys you, no matter what you do. No matter what you think, I own you. You are mine.”
I believe him.
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Nobody owns you Olo. Nobody ever has and nobody ever will. You are free. There is nothing between you and freedom but your own mind. As always, our thoughts are with you.
ReplyDeleteI'd like to believe that, but I've still got his mark, and all these scars...besides, I'd rather he owns me then anyone else. if others are helped, I can deal with it.
ReplyDeleteMarks and scars cannot own you.
ReplyDeleteOlo, nobody can own anyone else. It just isn't logical. You are a free poleepkwa.
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