by G. Deyke
~*~
“I have something for you,” she says. Her eyes are full of fear and hate and her dagger flashes. Pain trickles down my cheek like tears.
She laughs. “It's nothing you must think of,” she says. “You wouldn't understand anyway; you are only kretchin after all. Don't trouble yourself with it.”
She reaches her hand to me, to give me the food – her hand flies – she hits me, scratches at my face, pushes me down. The stone hits me hard and fast. She twists her beautiful hand into my hair and she lowers her head near my ear and whispers: “I will find you. And I will kill you, you filth.” Her scream fills me, surrounds me, pierces through me. “Stop! STOP! STOP!”
Stop. Stop, stop. Stop this, stop this dreaming, let me wake. I tear through the dream and wake to cold night air, weeping and shaking, afraid beyond fear. I whistle to Snake: let this end, let me forget, let me stop dreaming. Let me die, if that is all I can do; but only let it end. I cannot bear this much longer.
