The Dead Girls

But he’s still hearing the life support machines beeping in his head.  Like distant demons.  When he closes his eyes he can see them, tubes wrapped around, roller wheels on the bottom.

Slams one beer, two beers, three beers, four.  Ah, finally, the world begins to shine.  The stars in the sky become crystalline, the moon a hunk of bone, the lake a polished hand mirror, the surrounding trees a fairytale wood.

He looks up at the sky.  His head swims with alcohol; his vision blurs then refocuses.  He locates various constellations which he cannot name.

“You up there, Pop?” he mutters.

A sound—plink, plink, plink—from behind, and a series of gentle splashes on the water.  He looks across the lake but sees nothing, scans the bank—nothing.

Plop: a stone being dropped into the lake.





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This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)