It Tears You Up Inside, Pt. 8

Edited because of formatting issues and I forgot to indicate that the story had ended. Grr.

She threw open the door to her apartment and slipped inside. The world that had been open and bright minutes before had turned dark. The air itself smothered her. Her heart pounded stacatto in her chest, and every breath she drew her thought came as hard as if there had been fingers wrapped around her neck squeezing the life out of her.

Oh, God, Alyssa, she thought. Alyssa. It was all for nothing. I’m so sorry, Alyssa.

She dropped to her hands and knees. She crawled through her apartment, weak and blind and mewling. She groped her way along the floor, her memory failing her, the space she had called a home for years an alien landscape. She felt the couch, and to next to it a doorway, and through that her bedroom.

That, at least, was familiar. She knew the scent of her cell, the feeling of its floor. The carpet was short and scratchy, the air heavy and stale. She found her appointed spot next to her bed and she curled up there, whimpering like a wounded dog, a sick child.

I was so close, she thought. So close.

Her saliva was thick in her mouth, tasting of iron and wine. She felt something run from her nose down her cheek and fall onto the floor, and she could not have said if it was snot, or blood, or the black ooze she could feel welling up inside her, the ichor that filled her where once there had been organs, a heart, the things that made a person a person.

She slept. She woke. A pressing need filled her, an absolute certainty.

I need to talk to someone, she thought. I will feel better if only I could talk to someone.

The end! This one went someplace strange and almost completely different from what I intended. Go figure. As always, thank you for reading, and be here tomorrow for something new!


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