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68-122 words. "...rough and scratchy..." |
They gathered around the Captain’s desk and looked at the rough and scratchy photograph. Each one pointed at a different section and shouted out their questions,
“Is that a shoe?”
“Is he alone?”
“Didn’t Tom Cruise do this in a movie?”
“I heard he was gay, is that true?”
Quietly at the back, Officer Andrews smiled, glad that he had turned his head before she snapped the shot. (68)
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The door slammed and clothes hit the floor in desperation. Determined to escape rational thought, she took him in and tasted anger for the first time. The tequila-fired need pulled them up the stairs until she collapsed, pulling his pale fetid flesh to her. She needed his weight, his gravity, to crush her into oblivion, to drive away the confusion and pain. She held him close and felt his clumsy penetrating thrusts tear at long forgotten spaces. “Harder” she yelled at the darkness that surrounded them, but his body failed him, failed her, and she pushed him hard back down the stairs until he slumped bleeding in the corner. In the sickening quiet, the rough and scratchy carpet seduced her to sleep. (122)
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This is an unsettling picture, so I found unsettling words. (May 15) I may come back if the mood changes.
If you want to get unsettled yourself, go here.
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