I hate shopping for gifts: Christmas, birthdays, Valentine's day. It all sucks. The dollar store was the best thing ever invented after edible underwear and chloroform. Someone said people hate as they love. Well, I hate loving you. It's unreasonable rhetoric. Who the hell has a three week anniversary? Even the sex hasn't lost its applepie-puppy-shine yet, so why call in the paramedics with this anniversary shit, you brainwashed halfway-house bitch!
Sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you. It's just that ... I'm a hostage, living away the thrilling minutes of a death-room romance with listeria licking at my crotch.
What's wrong with you?
Was it the rusty chainsaw? The way I said "please" like I actually meant it?
We'll I did mean it. It was dark. You were so lovely and lost, waiting at the train station all silk and lace and soft skin, and I'd had too much to drink.
Your legs look so hot in those leather straps. You weren't sure if they would, but they do.
Please now, just sit still. No one knows what will make them happy. I certainly don't. Your tits, your mouth, your ass? Maybe. We've only known each other for three weeks. What difference does it make whose panties those are?
Oh come on, don't cry. You know I hate it when you cry.
I know, I know ... they make you jealous, the way they just glare at you over the picket fence. Their sexy gaping mouths and swollen tongues, eyes like wet charcoal.
No, they're not sneering at you, darling. Why would you think that? They mean nothing to me. Sure, they wanted me. They all want me, but three weeks is a long time, baby. More than I gave any of them.
Yes, you're special, of course you are, and I know what I said, but look, I polished the pike all nice and shiny for you. Sanded the rust off and everything.
It'll look nice with your earrings, if you'd just ... hold ... still.
Cheryl Anne Gardner is a writer of dark, disturbing art-house novellas and abstract flash fiction. She is an Indie advocate, and prefers to read out-of-the-mainstream Indie published works, foreign translations, and a bit of philosophy. She lives with her husband and ferrets on the east coast USA, and she likes to eat lint and play with sharp objects. You can find more of her work at Twisted Knickers Publications and at various online flash journals.