___________

___________

___________

___________

___________

The dog is ___________.

The man is ___________.

The sun is ___________.

The cloud is ___________.

The woman is ___________ Gone, your mind supplies. .

___________ Never coming back.

___________ You tell yourself you had no other choice.

___________ Stop, Fodder. You were doing so well.

___________ Please, stop.

It doesn't get easier, does it? They say it will, but I suppose things are different when it's your fault. How does it feel? There's another in this room, besides you and your keeper. She stands just within the bounds of your periphery. You don't look, but you know what you would see if you did.

How could you do that to me? No, don't bother sharing. I've heard it all before. I know you hate me. I tried, you know. I tried. Sweat and grease soaked hair clings to her face, a ragged and stained nightshirt to her body. You want to say, I'm sorry.

Think about yourself. Think about them. Her hands and feet have turned blue from the pooling of blood. She must be so cold.

I didn't raise you to be such a selfish, cruel thing. What happened to you? Your brain— a slave to habit— tells you to listen for her breathing, for her footsteps, but she has since lost the need for either.

It's disgusting. She never speaks, only stares. She never moves, only sways.

I can hardly believe you're my daughter. The wound on her neck does not bleed as much as it once did, but the ever present drip, drip, drip of blood on tile sets your nerves alight.

...

Oh... don't cry. From your side a voice says, "It's alright, don't push yourself. A lot of people struggle with interpreting emotion."

I still love you.

Even if you are what you are, and you did what you did. From the corner of the room, she smiles at you.

I love you. You wish you could say you did not deserve this.