Ficly

Still Going

I loved her the way the sun loves his planets, fragmented with necessity. The lack of pain is the disaster I’ve been waiting for, like the smallpox scar left on the limp form of my grandmother’s arm…It no longer bothers her.

Love is that disgusting word I spit out. So distasteful, that sulphuric burning screaming taste that sold to me so well. My wound has lost its blood clot, resulting in that stomach-turning infected stink that comes from an unirrigated bacteria-penetrated piece of flesh.

“Venus,” I serenade that god. “Venus…” Then her eyelashes blinked at me from her aerial bed. They were long and reached out to me like flytraps. "Oh Venus”. I strangled myself – what a weakling!

Venus stirred and unrolled a parchment of lies, letting it roll down from heaven. It landed at the foot of my bed. Somehow in the dimness, I saw my name. She’d written it hearts ago. Many hearts ago.

“Venus…” My voice dripped with blame. “You knew.”

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