by Marie Delta
Suddenly, he’s in my ear, “Hush baby.” I still. It is a woman. The sultry country accent would have been intoxicating were I not scared out of my mind. Something is shoved roughly in my mouth, chipping a tooth on its way in. “I’m just so tired of listenin’ to you chil’. I don’t know what all the screamin’ is about!” Tape is quickly smoothed over my lips, and with that, she gave me a little bop on the mouth, “But that’ll shut you right up.” Shoving my tongue left and right I feel the smooth plastic and try to force the objet through my seamless lips and a shot of pain travels up the front of my face. I’m pretty sure I just impaled my lip with my own tooth. I whimper a bit more.
Small, callused hands caress both my cheeks, “Listen, honey, I’m not here to hurt you. Oh no,” I’m sobbing and gasping for air, “I wanna help you!” I receive a stinging slap to the face. “Look here, stop cryin’ and listen! I told I ain’t gonna hurt you. I can skip the, ‘so long as you comply’ speech though, I think.” She chuckled again and began rubbing my ears, slowly, in small circles. It seemed she was done speaking.
I wait. And I wait. And I wait. I can’t see, I can’t speak. I can’t move, and I’m hungry and scared and wet and scared and cold and scared. Again, I think of home. I think of my fuzzy pajamas and my wall lined with books. I think of my office with my antique desk, and I picture myself there, typing away at my computer. I begin to miss people I do not even know; the bum on the freeway off ramp, the Wendy’s drive thru guy. It feels like I have been like this for weeks. I can’t tell when I’m awake or asleep. I’m angry. I’m angry that I’m here, livid at the fact that I can’t move. And I can’t do a damn thing.
My brain goes on a rampage and I picture the monster standing over me with a big ugly, toothy grin. I imagine her spotted with boils, old and falling apart. I can feel her standing there, her hands hovering over me twitching with excitement. Her palm slides over my belly as she lifts my sweatshirt. The bottom snags under my hips and she gets angry, snatching it up over my sports bra. That is all I had on when I left this morning. Or yesterday. Or an hour ago.
She removes her hand and in its place, I feel a long thin, scaly weight. The scales gripping, pulling and sliding across my waist are obvious. There is no mistaking a snake. I have no fear of snakes luckily, and I pray that is the purpose of this exercise. Fear and fear only. I keep my body still letting the sly demon slither at will and wonder what my killer is doing now. Does she think I’m frozen in fear? Afraid of a snake who cares less about me when her crazy ass has me tied down? The snake is lifted and brought down, sharp, instantly triggering a bite. I was wrong. It is not fear she wants, its death. And death is coming.
I’m going to die. I don’t know if I’m ready but here I am. Dying slowly. My side is numb where the snake sank its fangs in and wiggled around, and I’m crying again. Crying for the last time. Afraid for the last time. Sorry for the last time. So sorry. Whatever I did, I’m sorry. My left leg is gone now. I guess this isn’t the worst way to go. No pain. Now I’ve lost my left ass cheek. I hope they don’t find me with shit in my shorts.
My left side calls my attention. I can feel something, there is something there. She’s doing something to me and I can’t feel it or see. I can hear her breathing, heavy, somewhere close to me. Suddenly there is a release. A release of pressure, like…like spilling my guts out. I think this bitch just cut me open. Oh God, oh God please! And there’s pressure. A heavy, heavy weight in my chest. It feels like something is travelling inside of me and…God it hurts! It hurts so bad, oh please make it stop. Now she’s pulling, pulling, pulling. I scream.