deadrabbit
Some rabbit died last night. A coyote got to it or something, they found it's body ravaged by buckshot. They identified it through the rot by the silver tag around it's neck, bearing a name, phone number, and address. Father said, "Guess these things just happen, don't it?" I nodded and packed, blinked and two months passed. Stop after stop, what's gotten into you? "I feel sick today." I reply. Rolling skylines pass by, their eyes carving canyons into the river highway. So it reforms and melts again. Father drives, the night bites, I follow suit and sink my teeth into pleather and let the car kick my head back up. My own head strangles me, my windows open, I'm cold. Hold me, I guess, what else are you supposed to do? Am I I'm scared of him? No matter how close he sits to me, or how much his touch sucks the cold away. My mother had an affair and drove my father mad, I assume that's bound to happen in every relationship. Every once in a while, when a street lamp isn't there to protect me, the window glares back into my eyes and I get a glimpse of myself. Who does she think she is? The elk tooth rattles in it's pouch. So what's new, how new? Fuck, nothing, nothing ever, nothing forever. Sick, sick. Red, blue, dancers and swirls and colors and eyes peering back as the car stops abruptly to meet the red seeing angels demands. They lock eyes with me, with my two front teeth exposed and deep into the side of the car door, and the man hunched over me. I get red, as the light was before it went green, and the car goes again. First, second, third, fourth- wait no, I only heard the engine shift thrice. Then the fourth gear clicks in and I imagine father working the clutch mindlessly. He hasn't said anything in hours. What's he supposed to say? What does he owe me? Last time we spoke he told me he wanted to take me hunting. I nodded, I guess. We stop so I can get out and throw up over some railing some place on some bridge over some river.