Blood Bitch

        he smiles electric. it conceals the bruised ego ( stupid… why should he care ? ) and bordem. he brushes the lump on his abdomen. it lets out a yowl, digs its claws into his belt. he doesn’t mind—mostly distracted while syllables brew in his throat, beg to spill over his tongue, like puke or catchy song lyrics.

       ❝ better sober up, sweetheart. ya look like a mess. ❞  he’s not wrong, per se, but the quip is bratty, obnoxious, juvenile in-context. perhaps teasing, if you squint. pretty high school girls love teasing ; let’s hope it works on, uh, milfs ?

  Ophelia raised a pierced eyebrow as her friends slowly turned to stare at the punk looking KINDERGARTEN twerp. Slowly, college aged sharks disguised as girls oozed towards him, making snide little comments comparing him to ROADKILL or an annoying little brat.   Their long fingers with snakes and skulls tattooed on them touched and prodded his skin. They were like vultures CIRCLING a bunny.

  “ Isn’t it past your curfew, pipsqueak. Mommy’s gonna be MAD if she finds out what you’ve BEEN DOING. “

  She eventually got up and sat CLOSER to him  -   she smelled like cigarettes, booze, perfume, and IRON. The sounds of YOWLING and MEWLING caught her attention.