FAÇADE, 6
The metal smell burns my eyes and nostrils, although I’m not one hundred percent positive I truly smell it.
The redheaded jogger asks, “I’m going to die from this, aren’t I? Because I couldn’t stop.” Soon the floor turns into a pond of her blood and floods like a basement after bad stop. The blood never quits flowing; instead, a current develops and crimson waves crash along the shores of the walls.
I close my eyes and pretend I’m not drowning.
When I open my eyes again, the redheaded jogger stands up on the bed, dead and as though her nerves jerked her upright for me to see her body drying and cracking apart. Her shell falls to the saturated sheets. Underneath she is an older woman with a prominent brow and chin. She keeps aging, keeps aging.
“Mom?” I ask under my breath, spitting out some of her blood.
“Your mother’s dead, my dear,” she says.
I shake my head, confused. “You’re her. You are dead.”
The redheaded jogger asks, “I’m going to die from this, aren’t I? Because I couldn’t stop.” Soon the floor turns into a pond of her blood and floods like a basement after bad stop. The blood never quits flowing; instead, a current develops and crimson waves crash along the shores of the walls.
I close my eyes and pretend I’m not drowning.
When I open my eyes again, the redheaded jogger stands up on the bed, dead and as though her nerves jerked her upright for me to see her body drying and cracking apart. Her shell falls to the saturated sheets. Underneath she is an older woman with a prominent brow and chin. She keeps aging, keeps aging.
“Mom?” I ask under my breath, spitting out some of her blood.
“Your mother’s dead, my dear,” she says.
I shake my head, confused. “You’re her. You are dead.”