ROTTING ANGEL – My Special Place CS

“It gets easier each time. Kink becomes survival. Transitioning from one bite to the next. I hope this never ends. We talk at the water cooler, my canines masquerading as post-dental success stories. They kill, too, but look like a rest stop. Mint wafts across the office. Underneath is human miasma, a list of names – you find one on any corner on any street. MISSING. REWARD FOR TIPS. I brandish concern and hide a gloating. I watch the news during dinner, and think what a sad state we’re in. Then I go down to my basement, with the concrete walls and ceiling, my grin widening with each step down well-trodden stairs. Politics fades. The office fades. When I open the room, it’s just you, me, and the sledgehammer. And then it’s just me and the cutlery. And then it’s just me. I hope this never ends.”