By Neel Anil Panicker
Three years, three months, and thirteen days, and look where I am.
Here, on the stairs, third from the landing, half naked, shivering like one he’ll of a frightened chicken.
Chicken, yes, that’s what I am, that’s what my sorry, sordid life has been relegated to since…
Since when? Since the time I hooked up with that guy, that slimy bastard, that rippling beefcake with the cutest dimple I had ever laid my eyes on in my two score years of pitiable existence on Mother Earth.
Mother, ah…how I wish I had one. How I wish she hadn’t died, and how I so sorely wish Daddy hadn’t decided to set shop with that buxom cleavage revealing bimbette who called herself a social worker but who believed more in working on other peoples’ bodies.
Can’t entirely blame her, can I ?
Men are men, just dogs.
I know that’s insulting to the four legged loyalists.
Anyways, so here I am. Just another sucker who fell– hook, line, and sinker for a wolf in sheep’s clothing, one who went by the rather classy name Albert.
In hindsight, he’s anything but classy.
Three stitches on my head, a couple of knife etchings on my chest, a broken wrist—are proof enough of his bestiality.
Wait…I hear a sound. It’s the door…he’s coming.
Got to go.
Maybe he deserves another chance.
I got no choice, dear.
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