Crumbs

Daffni

Crumbs fall between my thighs as I munch on my favorite sugar wafers from the Dollar Store. He leans over, looks at me in disgust, then suggests we come up with a way to recreate Heydrich’s gas chambers. He lists off the names of all the people he would shove inside and then admits most of us should probably just volunteer ourselves to go in. Such a disgusting destructive people we are. I begin to draw out a blueprint, but then we grow bored of the whole idea and make love the rest of the night. So much more exciting to see him scream out in agony and hatred when I pull on his balls too hard. I think I felt some skin tear. In the middle of the everglades, bald birds begin to blockade my car. They look like scavengers and I’m sure they are hoping for some left over crumbs to fall out of my car. As soon as they get too close, some gypsy women throws bread and they all swarm her. Relieved, I continue on with my adventure. The heat shuts me down to a sluggish pace and the sweat makes me chafe. What I would give for an ice cold beverage would make me inhumane. Still waiting for that offer, I drink one of my disgustingly warm lemonades that was left outside in 100 degree weather. It’s disgusting how much lemonade resembles piss when it’s warm. Either way, I drink it to the last sip. We devour everything and it only reinforces the fact that satisfaction was left in Eden. Even the gods crave destruction. Days pass and still I’m stuck with pissy warm lemonade, the birds still scavenge, and the plans for our recreation still sits in the backseat on the floor.

A couple days go by....

Washing up at the first highway rest stop I can find, I look at myself in the reflection and think showering is over rated. When I sit down to pee I realize how much I miss it. Old cheese wouldn’t describe the scent that eluded from my drawers. Aw well, I shrug. I remove my scent stained panties and toss them in the bin where people put used tampons. They’re of no use to me now. As I walk back to my home on wheels, I pray that Marilyn Monroe’s spirit doesn’t float by and blow my dress up while I’m pantie-less. That would sure be a site to see. In the front seat, staring out the window in front of me, I have no where to go, suddenly a flying brick smashes the window in front of me. I reach in the back to grab hold of something and find some papers to shield my face from the horizontal rains spraying into the frame of my front window. Pulling the shards out of my cheeks, I thank God I wasn’t blinded this time. As I inspect the papers I used as a shield, a sudden rush of guilt and shame drowns me. Tears flood my hands faster than my mind can feed me any words or symbols. To imagine someone planning such an evil act tears me apart far worse than any shattered windshield could. The dehydrated side of me thinks much differently than the drunk side. But being in no state is more of a challenge than either of those. I crawl to the back seat and lose myself for a bit longer until sleep washes over me and takes me into a numb waste of mind, hoping this rest can at least heal the wounds on my face.