She sits with her fingers wrapped around its tentacles trying desperately to pull it from her throat. It’s piercing through her skin, and feeding like a parasite on the remaining hope she holds. 

 

She flails around, out of water I guess. I wonder where she thinks she’s going? 

 

I stand there wondering if I have milk in the fridge. I feel like eating cereal when I am done here. 

 

I glance over at her one last time, then turn away, and close my eyes. I need to remind myself to feel something about what I have just witnessed. 

 

I once again split my lids, open, and realize, nothing. I take in a deep breath to try and feel something, anything at all, but I am left wholly empty. 

 

What could I possibly do anyway, even if I wanted to? I ask myself, trying to convince myself of the decision, and walk away. 

 

I can hear her, gargling, desperate to find air. Any kind of relief from the pressure around her throat. I wish she would just be quiet. Why must she struggle so loudly?

 

I turn my head slightly with vain hope she might have simply gone away. Unfortunately, there she is, still struggling…

 

I sigh loudly trying to impress upon her what an inconvenience this whole thing is to me. But of course, selfishly, she is ignoring me and trying to survive. 

 

The leaves are blowing across the street before me and I am angry I chose to walk this way home. Maybe tomorrow I will walk down Morton street instead. The reflection of the water in somebody’s pool is reflecting on the tin roof of their porch, and suddenly, I am returned. 

 

I can no longer breathe, and he is still there. His hands wrapped around my throat and my face is filled with blood. The skin on my cheeks feels like it will tear at any moment. And I wonder when I will finally pass out and get some peace. 

 

I wish I had found Morton street today, instead of tomorrow.

MORTON ST