Tuesday, 28 December 2010

Coup de grâce

She wants to hold me back, restrain me, fight me. She wants to pretend I’m not there, but she feels me getting stronger, gathering momentum, seconds away from finding release. The moist closes in on me; I now lie in a pool of water. And break free:
I stampede out of the corner of her eye
and race through the length of her cheek
I travel the contour of her face swiftly
leaving a wet trail behind me
I arrive at the edge
of her chin and come to a sudden halt.
I remain stationary for a second as if balancing on a cliff,
until I can cling to her skin no longer and I shoot
I collide with the wooden floor, causing a watery explosion and splitting into a dozen droplets. As I do so, the words violently erupt from his callous lips:

I don’t love you anymore.

The words combust in the airless room, releasing a blazing flame that sticks to her throat like a choker. The ash seeps through her skin, travels through her veins and lands on her heart.

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