written by: Rachel Tremblay
Little Lump knew it was time to go. The exit signs were clearly indicated – two at the top and two at the bottom. A lamenting voice echoed from beyond, urging her to retract her claws from the bloody walls that caged her in. But she ignored it, and drove them in deeper. This was where she was meant to be, she thought. The reason she was created in the first place. She dug her nails deeper still. She could feel the warm flesh around her fingertips. A thick, humid smell filled her lungs. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth. No herbal tea, raw food diet or radiation would drive her out. As long as the voice had that whining, blood curdling quality to it, she would be the cancer to that body. She would clutch to its existence until there was no surface left to scratch. She was sure to kill it, and that pleased her. And until then she was safe. That was, as long as the voice failed to remember.
Latest posts by Rachel Tremblay (see all)
- Lost Between The Lines - February 5, 2018
- Peeling Paint - January 17, 2018
- Little Lump - December 31, 2017