Dead Dog

It wasn’t the tiny parts that agitated him. The girl in the corner worked with what she had. It was the third stage, her last dance, and not much for tips was coming her way towards the end.

“Could you identify the space between everything?” She asked, but the music was so loud, I mistook her for saying “Can you hide your face between my knees?”

Either way, when I breathed, flexed, or shifted, it all felt the same. I was tired, hungry, alive, and in need of a fix. Something to stir, cause damage, and memory loss. What I had in my head was too important for anyone to get a hold of, and too dangerous for me to keep in stock.

I decided to climb into her everything. Then, her soldiers brought me back, but luckily, the let out enough blood that it blitzed my memory. I woke up in an alley next to a dog, dead with a syringe sticking out of its front leg. Maybe it had what I’d had, previously.

I wondered if I could suck some of it out from it’s open wounds; after I brushed the maggots off.