ache1:
It never goes away. It never goes away...
Skunk
has his hand upon her forehead. Her hair’s too short to be in the way, but he
brushes it back regardless as she cradles the toilet stem, steadying herself in
anticipation of the coming convulsion.
ache1:
It was the shower, the... I squeezed out some shampoo in my hand and the, it’s
just random, it’s all so fucking random and there’s
Having
his ear hard to the back of her head allows her movements to dictate his own;
the words she speaks, or rather, the voice on which they’re carried is
abstracted, her hair moves audibly across the foreground of his hearing.
ache1:
It’s inside me now, it’s there again, oh Jesus what are we going to do here
and
with this she sighs and he feels her body collapse then quickly refocus as
again she vomits. Filtered through the bone of her skull and its scalp, this
noise of egested waste and fluid sounds to Brother Skunk oddly
biscuit-textured, he winces at her obvious hurt.
ache1
(finished for the moment, and resting her face flat upon the cool rim of the
toilet): Oh antler, antler
permitting
long-held breaths dispel themselves, as her hands move slow circles about her
abdomen, and down across the scars into the hair between her legs.
