From a Horror Flick
She sits there. Spitting glass between the crevices of her teeth. The sound is awful. Horrible. Grinding and biting with a malicious smile played out delicately on her plastic face. I am scared to look. I am scared not to look. Her eyes are bloodshot and she won't stop staring at me. Into me. More chiseled shards fly out from her bloody hole, and I weep inside. Why? Why does she hate me today? She is a picture out of a horror movie and I am cringing and clinging to apparitions that are no longer there.
I haven't done it yet. I know that I should have a long time ago. I...just...haven't. It's not that I don't want to. I really do. But, I feel like I need more before the deed is done. I feel like he owes me that much. This is all about the money. This is all about how I feel that he needs to pay me back for all the financial pleasure I gave him. This is me being cold. This is me being selfish and cruel.
I look inside at myself again. She is smiling wider now. Flesh is ripped at the corners, hanging down in shredded threads, reminding me of the earlier plate of spaghetti that I had just eaten. My stomach churns. I am revolted. I am sickened. I feel the spaghetti tighten inside me, bubbling up and around the acid inside. Keep it down.
I try and shut my eyes away from the image, knowing what I have to do, and not wanting to do it without getting what I really want. Money? Is that all I really think about? Why am I obsessed with it?
I hear the laugh next...and that makes me lose the spaghetti and my nerve.