I die.
It's surprisingly hard to do. I swallow the cloth many times before it gets lodged in the entrance to my lungs and he cannot pull it out quickly enough. I see the panic in his eyes as he gropes. They widen, horrified that this would be his last round. My lungs spasm. The veins pumping blood to bruising wrists and ankles are already slackening. The bruises on my nose will last longer. I breathe the fabric coarsely. The water does nothing to soften its penetration.
The worst part is that I suck it in myself.
No comments:
Post a Comment