"Well, how's my soldier doing?"
There is a slight wind. Is there an open window?
"How long have you been here now... 8 months?"
She is wearing her lab coat, but it is buttoned from the bottom up... except for a few at the top... is her coat long, or her dress short? Her eyes, they.. they are fixed to mine. They are saying something.
"Hmm. That's what I thought."
The wind picks up, and her hair dances slightly across her shoulders. She is walking toward the foot of my bed... hot electricity, sweet Jesus. The wind blows harder, and some papers flutter out the window... a machine budges... tubes swing.
"You must get pretty lonely cooped up in here."
Red lips, dripping sugar. She undoes a few more buttons at the top of her lab coat, and it spreads left and right. She puts her hands on either side of my legs, and lifts one knee to the bed, then the other. A gust of wind pulls through her coat, unbuttoning it all the way down her belly. Her breasts hang like mission bells, her skin glowing a burning gold. More papers are sucked out the window. A machine falls over. She crawls a few more inches.
Tubes and lines and wires flail all around me-- red and green and blue and yellow and white liquids spill into open air, and are pulled into a mist, or weave across the floor, up the wall and out the window. Her hair pushes and pulls and tears. There is a skeleton beneath the wallpaper....
A cabinet pulls from out of the wall, and on it there is a dark head, black and red and brown. A tube whips around my arm and cinches it to a rail. A few wires snake around my leg and thick tubes rise from either side of me and bind me across my stomach, neck, and forehead. Sound it's self is sucked away, and Dr. Chery Pie's face starts to tear, from inside and out, her skin flaking away like ashes. Her gaze is constant, but her eyes have been replaced with dark, empty, holes. The head on the cabinet opens it's mouth, and gives a voice to wind.
The demon Cherry Pie rattles, and slowly drops it's jaw, lined with pointed teeth, and filled with.... blacker blacks, darker darks.. a cave outlined with cherry sauce and glass knives, displacing and placing and uncertain and back to displacement.
It leaps forward, and there is nothing.
The boys are ready. I am ready. I bring my lips together and press my tongue to my teeth. This is what this is for.
here she stalks the grave of washeh, the tail to death her self, we wasted lived in wicked moores, and fell from all twas felt,