August 22, 2015 by Allen George
Her veins course formaldehyde, green against paper skin. I flick my lighter; try blind the apparition. Blind – before it skitters across my mind, leaving me gasping, choking, sicking, scrabbling frantic to flush its insect leavings from my memory. She unfurls her legs – crosses one over another, another again and leans in. Burnt. Burnt burning bitter breath.
“Can I get a light?“