Dearest

by Jacquie Walters

A word traveling rapidly along synapses until it pops onto the tongue like a gumball landing in the cup of a machine.

Loud, so loud, just like it did on the nights she couldn’t sleep, those late hours when the Night Hag came.

whhhhhat

The whisper that has become clearer the longer she ignores it. The whisper that has been asking, in an increasingly irritated voice, “Where’s my good girl?”

I have zero idea what’s happening and I love it