by Kym Darkly
Trying to find one’s body can be difficult, especially when the limbs have been torn apart: disarticulated by saws and knives and evil. It’s not like I wanted to go back into that rotting corpse. I just needed to have contact one more time with my own flesh before letting it go. It hurt to find a leg in the trash, a foot in the stove and my head in the fridge between the eggs and orange juice, cradled under someone else’s hand, but I had to know what had happened to me. I had to know what that madman had done. I do wish I hadn’t found my torso and hips though – unspeakable things… I can’t even say…
© kym darkly
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