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The Beast Within

When it first started happening I was blissfully unaware of cause and effect.  How could I have been?  I was only a kid.  Hell, I’m still a kid.  As I stand here with the knife still dripping, my usually clever mind is blank as fuck.  I didn’t expect all the screaming.  How in the hell am I supposed to clean this?  My carpet!  

 
The cats are staring at me, wondering if this is my idea of dinner.  The biscuits are burning again.  That’s what started the whole shit storm.  
 
It’s daylight again.  I assumed it was midnight.  My landlord is a cop.  Not any cop…the head cop.  I used to smoke weed with him back in the day.  The day before he became daddy law.  He cares for me.  Always has, but he isn’t going to help me now.  
 
I’ve broken on through to the other side.  Now I’m just another bear opening trash cans in the city.  Must kill bear.  Say we relocated it.  
 
I decide to shower.  Just bought that expensive shit at the black girl salon.  Wish I was back there.  They were fun.  He’s still twitching.  Maybe I’ll get off on a lesser charge.  Yeah, right.  The world has a habit lately of putting cute white chicks behind bars.  Forever.
 
Back in -my- day men were the bad guys.  Believe me, bad to the bone.  I just killed one.  
 
I’ve never had to pee less in my life but it seems logical to go to the bathroom.  Hurling commences.  Hate that shit.  More bathing.
 
There’s no way to wash the sin off.  The expensive stuff smells fantastic but the sin ate it like peanut butter.  At least I’ll be clean when they haul me off to the same man who killed my dad.
 
Okay, think this through.  I have a car.  I know where an old well is.  He’s a heavy dead weight but I’ve been working out for three years in preparation for this.  
 
Driving aimlessly.  Still drunk.  I never drink and drive.  Don’t beat yourself up, big girl.  Just do the Dew and keep on grinning.
 
Heavy ass bastard.  I should’ve never made him breakfast the first time.  Did I turn off the oven?  Shit.  Biscuits.
 
Stopped by the liquor store.  Dude was so nice.  I should’ve married that guy.  He has a nice nine to five and knows how to conversate.  He didn’t even yell when he saw the killer in me.  He just grinned.
 
Feed the cats.  Yeah, about that ugly bruise.  I suppose I had that coming.  Haha who’s laughing now, you pitiful bastard?
 
Bad dreams.  Did I do that?  Was it real?  I’m a writer.  I could’ve made that shit up.  Nope.  Stains are still there.  Onward then, wild horses!  Fuck Nikki Minage….where’s the Zeppelin?  I wonder if it’s too late to turn off the oven.  Just open the door.  Let the cats out.  They don’t need to suffer.
 
There comes the law.  Wait, it’s the fire truck.  Don’t save ME, you fucking imbecile.  Save the cats!  
 
Men.
 
Where’s dude?   Oh, I don’t know.  See, I was drunk and I think he set the house on fire.  Try Florida.  He has friends there.
 
 
 
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About Lore Wilde

Writer of horror and flash fiction, student, fast pitch softball mom. Lover of the internet and the gym (strange combo). Always on Spotify jamming out, on a nature trail, in the water, on a trip, cooking, writing, at a live concert, exercising, yoga, meditiating. Prone to sarcastic rants, telling ghost stories, bitching about money or having perpetual fun. Interested in hanging out with creative, kewl people with stories to share. I adore writers...professional, published, or "just for fun". I read a lot, write a lot, and type faster than Hell burns.

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