by Bethanie Lee
one two three… five, no
one two three four… wait, where did i go?
she turns her head
a fortress of black… or crimson?
four palisades. no, gates? walls maybe
look down. chains, flesh, the stench of copper
a scream crawls up her throat, clawing at her lips
lips? who’s lips?
acid spills out her mouth
it burns and burns and burns
up? a barricade of blue or gray
mocking laughter, laughing.
what are you doing?
you’re not supposed to be here
one two three four five six seven eight nine ten…
a man approaches
there’s frost on his fingers
flakes that melt under her chin as he lifts her face