Not a second goes by that his teeth don’t tear into my skin, that the poison which lives in him, in his mouth and his veins, his tears and his piss, not a second goes by that the poison isn’t injected into me. My eyes never close. Neither do his. I never sleep. Neither does he. My sentence is to be consumed for eternity, chewed like undercooked bacon, crushed and burned, sucked on and spat out. My sentence for your deliverance.

Who would have thought 30 pieces of silver would have bought this? And don’t even get me started on inflation. Alright, so you might wonder at how I can joke, and joke badly, while a three headed demon gnashes his …

He only noticed that his hands were sweating. He didn’t feel the stress in his leg. He didn’t comprehend the pounding of the muscles, the blood flowing, his skin virtually beating like one giant heart, his feet turning over and over and over again as he literally beat the bicycle pedals into understanding his urgency. Just his hands, the slickness of wet skin on rubber handlebars, the fear that he might slip, lose control, and lose her.

His sword banged against his back, held in place by a piece of rope his mother used to tie up old newspapers for recycling. She didn’t know he’d left. She would have stopped him. She would have said “you’re …