April 25, 2015

“Every time the men threw a fishing line into the ocean and waited for a bite, they hoped to haul up yet another dead girl, maybe one a little fresher than the last, and then the body would put on ice and stared at until the men’s eyes watered. Was it wrong that when the dead girls were considered, stomachs growled and all anyone could think of was squeezing lemon juice onto pale limbs?”

***

“It rained while the men looked at the dead girls. The windswept sand became packed down. The drops left faint pockmarks on the beach around them. When their hands were not on the dead girls checking their skins’ clamminess, they tilted their heads back so they could catch the rain on their tongues. I tasted the rain through them. The droplets danced in their mouths. The water was delicious. I wished I could drink it for myself.”

***

“I tapped my fingernails against his forehead, then pushed his head back. He barely resisted. Before his scalp could touch the tub bottom, I reached beneath his head and pulled the drain plug. Water poured past him. I shoved him down. His head landed on the drain. He became suctioned to the hole. I straddled his waist, weighing him down, and no matter how he moved, he could not throw me off. His hips bucked but I stayed on. I said, I PROMISE THAT I WILL TEACH YOU.”

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