He brought me herbs, though I was not sick in the body. No one could see where the illness lived except him. First, he stuffed the herbs inside my brain, then his hands. It hurt a little, but he sang to me so I wouldn’t think about the discomfort too much. He pushed his knees against my head, then pulled himself all the way inside of it.
“You’ve seen too many loved ones go into the earth.” He said “You too, want to sink inside the soil, thinking that is the only solution to your devastation.”
“What should I do?” I asked. “It’s not what you should do, but what I should.”
Before I could protest, he snatched my brain and bit into it. I screamed so loud I saw my neighbor rush outside with a lantern to see who was getting attacked.
He growled as he chewed the last bits of my disease and grief. When there was nothing left inside my skull, he crept out of me, tears in his eyes as he began to feel the suffering of my mind that he ate.
About the author:
Ashlie Allen writes fiction and poetry. She also enjoys photography. Her work has appeared in Spelk, Cease Cows, Juked and others. Her favorite wine is Merlot.