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Pound of flesh.

So I was there, I didn’t care. My back ached, but my mind was numb. I know she’ll forgive me, but not any time soon. But would she do this to the only person who stayed from the beginning.

The beginning of the end , that is, especially for me. But, I’d said I was sorry. I knew I was wrong. I picked the stone and etched another line over the four I’d already etched. Five a bundle , six was next, 20 days in my little nest.. Almost a whole month, the room stunk. I hadn’t showered since I got here.

My excreta’s aroma went straight to my brain. The windows were nailed in, and the door to the single room was locked from the outside . No bulb, no candle, no lantern, darkness . I was hungry, but at least I wasn’t thirsty. The roof leaked every time it rained, and the mildew fused with the pungency of the room.

My knees knocked against each other as I tried to stand. I should be dead, I should be dead. I wept, but no tears flowed. She said I was loved but was this love? I saw light from under the door as every other evening. I crawled and stuck my nose under it . Chicken and a good dinner reached my nose, and my stomach grumbled so hard it hurt.

I sat up against the door and rolled back the dirty sleeve on my arm. I took a deep breath in and lifted my arm to my mouth and bit with all the strength I had left, I screamed silently and ripped off the flesh and chewed slowly as I fell back, mouth full and lips bloodied. Mama, I am hungry. I mumbled in the darkness

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