the sore spot (2.22)

that gut punch must have ruptured something because i can’t hardly move for the pain. usually i would hear a voice whispering in my ear, “stay down,” but there’s no voice this time because i can’t get up. all i can do is turtle and take the boots. to my back. to my face. to my chest. to that spot again. and i hear the screech of a wounded animal. i’m not surprised it is me. i know as soon as the bloody gasping scream escapes my throat that it’s me. his boot took away my speculation. i felt a warm gush after a pop this time. whatever ruptured or tore before has exploded. it’s pain like i’ve never felt. then calm. my brain shuts everything down. things are going dark. i’m about to end. after all these years of peace, it ends in violence. shit.