By a Thread

by Lucy Score

Now it was gray slush frozen into dirty, depressing clumps. I identified with those frozen clumps.

“Sir, are you here for STD panel results or hemorrhoids?” she shouted in the vicinity of my cell’s microphone.

LMFAOOOOOOO

“We’re fresh out of the blood of children, Satan. How about something that matches your personality?”

“You know, you’d be a lot prettier if you smiled once in a while,” she mused, fluttering her lashes. No wonder women hated it when men said that.

Ms. Thrift Shop 1998.”

“I’m saying I found you. And I’m not fighting it anymore. You’re mine.”