FAHRENHEIT.

HE  DIDN’T  MEAN  TO  .  _{he  never  meant  to  (  wouldn’t  hurt  a  fly  !  )  ,  but  then  what’s  this  at  his  heels  ?  not  a  doll  ,  not  a  mannequin  ,  but  warm  flesh  falling  chill  :  HE  DID  THIS  .  stained  cobble  ,  put  splatters  of  red  on  worn  sneakers  /  you  could  find  peeks  of  his  socks  if  you  searched  hard  enough  .  he  sees  the  gun  focused  on  him  .  he  knows  he  should  care  ,  but  instincts  win  over  what  he’s  learned  :   HE  FEELS  NOTHING  ,  NO  FEAR  ,  JUST  STICKINESS  CLINGING  TO  HIS  SKIN  .}

_{“  i  .  .  .  did  ,  “  blood  paints  the  backs  of  his  teeth  ,  begins  to  turn  to  crust  ‘  neath  his  nails  .  he  gnashes  enamel  ,  wincing  at  the  tang  of  metal  ‘  gainst  his  tongue  :  he  needs  to  be  clean  ,  wipe  himself  of  this  dirt  .  a  lily  need  not  concern  itself  with  disgusting  matters  .  he  takes  a  handful  of  steps  away  from  the  corpse  .  “  i  –  i’m  sorry  ,  who  are  you  ?  “}

                        _{———A FRUIT SEVERED FROM ITS STEM RARELY SMELLED OF ROT. stunted at its size, the flesh would eventually decay over time. the same often went for people, cliche as it was. a fresh corpse didn’t often smell, despite the poetic beliefs of fiction. the man, knowing this, didn’t bother to check for a pulse ; better to not leave fingerprints nor let his guard down.}

      _{❝ you did this? ❞
the questioning continued with gun drawn. it was hard to believe that the young man was capable of such a thing unarmed, to which the natural thought was to approach with the intent of searching him.}

❝ it’s not important who i am — all i want to know is… did he hurt you? ❞