Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Marks of ownership

She wandered up and down the streets of the city, fingers brushing every building, lamp post, street sign, bench and trash can.

"You're mine. I own you. I love you." she murmurs to each thing, before hacking and spitting a gob of phlegm and blood on it, marking it, claiming it as hers.


At night, the shadows came and glided over the city, unable to find purchase. Hissing. Scrabbling. Passing. Gone.

Again.

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