Thursday, November 17, 2011

They met in a dark bar found in the seedy side of underworld. The ghost wore white and the zombie masked the scent of its rotting flesh with (what smelled like) a gallon of cheap cologne. The ghost mildly appreciated the effort, but mostly excused it because the zombie was mysterious and exciting (in all the wrong kinds of ways).

The pale flesh of the ghost’s cheek flushed as she drank and she was over taken with a dizzy lightheadedness. The zombie’s language became a stream of nonsensical words bound together with anticipation and intrigue. Hundreds of tiny strung multi-colored lights illuminated a halo around the unlikely couple and as intoxication consumed the ghost, the lights blurred, confusing and constraining any vision.

She shuts her eyes for the briefest of moments to catch her breath and steal a second of simple quiet. Before her was an open mouthed, tooth exposed zombie lurching forward. The ghost pulls back with a flinch and the zombie proposes, “Just let me take a little nibble, I promise it won’t hurt too much.”

Shocked and appalled, the ghost declined with a vicious force. With her back against the wall and a fearful breathlessness she watched the zombie slink closer and closer. It stood before her, filled with an irrational frustration and a desire to devour. All signs pointed to a fate in which the ghost was to be a meal (one of many, she was sure). She gasped and braced herself waiting for the first bite, (but nothing). Slightly confused, she felt a slight respite, until the zombie’s hand flew through the air and made hard contact with her face.

Stinging and burning spread across her cheek as she realized that not only did that fucking zombie slap her, but it was the first thing she had actually felt in months.

Not eaten, just publicly humiliated.

he hit me
and it felt like a kiss
he hit me
and i knew he loved me
if he didn’t care for me
i could have never made him mad
but he hit me
and i was glad

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