February 5, 2015

“My mother wanted to kill my father. She didn’t like the way he looked at her. When their reflections caught in the mirror simultaneously, the glass seemed to shake violently. They brushed their teeth together, ate their food together, did their laundry together. Mother wanted father to choke on his toothbrush, his chicken, a tablet of solid bleach. When mother and father were in bed together, she watched him sleep and imagined pressing a pillow down hard against his face. She wondered what it would be like to sleep beside a corpse. How long before the festering flesh gave its reek to the air, its fluids to the mattress. How long until his coldness turned the room into a refrigerator? Those thoughts consumed her until dawn and then she finally drifted to sleep where she did not dream no matter how she tried.”

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