L'aura del Campo

In your dying nightmare

In your dying nightmare

         for Betty

You are young and your sister is beating your mother with her doll. Give me 10 whacks, not 9, she crows. You cower in a trash heap of chicken bones. You count them: one-thousand one, one-thousand two... Your brother finds you and hands you your doll. You bite off its head, tear off its arms. It smiles and you know the train whistles at noon. You run to catch it, scream to the top of your lungs for it to stop. I deserve better than living like this! You are old, spooning oatmeal at the old folks home. Your mother and sister spit back at you. If you can't play nice you'll get no more dolls. You add honey and arsenic and feed them some more. You make yourself a chicken sandwich. You choke on a bone. You count the seconds till darkness engulfs you. You wake to a light held by a nurse with the face of your mother. She says that you died but some angel must've bit you. You lay there unable to spit back in her face. You are crippled and your heart pounds and aches. You piss on yourself unsure of your fate. You cry out to Death. You bastard, I deserve better than living like this!

© Kåre Enga 166.326 30.november.2009 [NaNo#83, page 95 red book]

75,875