Object/The Fall

My chest heaved, burning with new-found sensation.

me. Crumpled doll in the corner of the dank, empty room.

I heard a strangled whimper in the dark choke out “how…(then, even quieter)why?”
My head. When did hair become so painful? Agonizingly tugging at my scalp. Threatening to rip itself free at any moment…as appalled by this experience as I now knew that my stomach was, as I doubled over and wretched.
The whimper again…“why?”

Realizing with a mounting terror the pleas were my own.

The pleas of an object?

My mind threatened complete implosion at the effort of this.

Then terror…because Objects don’t plead.

The panic rose up again, along with the acrid bile in my throat. The unnerving new shit that I was now doing…I wasn’t sure if I was sick from the beating, or from the utter contempt I had for my new found self…

Battered, broken, used up, devoid of purpose…I barely noticed when I heard the thud of my head hitting the floor and the salty-mettalic taste as darkness consumed me.

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