The child sat at the mirror. Hours of reflection trickled, like boulders on shoulders, liquefying all of the love. What would become of the future? Who would hold the dim light? The flickering remnants of humanity? Eternal night left bruised in the drowning gutters. Who would save the quiet, to grow into stutters amplified? The child wanted to hear it. We ALL want to hear it.
The tired little heart hurt from the silence. It tried to speak to its main artery, but the artery just pumped and pumped, and looked the other way. The little heart needed to feel their connection more than ever before.
"If I'm going to be alone, I need to know where to sever our connection!" the little heart cried.
The artery turned and huffed "I really don't care" and went back to existing.
The little heart grieved, from exhaustion of trying. After a mournful rest, the little heart began to bleed from slices of silence.
Soon, there was no connection at all. Instead, just two cellular structures inside a silent body.
She drank whiskey. Lucky me. Now I can probe her, and drag her through the dirt. Now I can strip her and use my member for hurt. She drank whiskey and can't quite recall so I'll not be at fault for penetrating her vaginal wall. While she's picking pine needles and debris from her hair, my white-faced smile will be everywhere. I'll shine bright, like an athletic star, while she's forced to bear the brunt of her scars. Lucky me, she drank whiskey.