The Decameron 2.0

Day 1.3: HEA Love - MY POISON KISS DOTH PURIFY Holly_Gonzalez

We all wiped tears from our eyes.

My sides hurt from laughing so hard. I lifted my shirt and checked to see whether any of the stitches from my kidney operation had popped out—nope, all good. I tried to lift Mr. Hardon's shirt, but he slapped my hand away and insisted he would do it himself, thanks. The week prior, I'd given him a kidney, as he'd killed both his own through years of excessive drinking and high-fructose corn syrup.

It made sense Mr. Hardon was a psychotherapist. The only person you'd really want analyzing your problems was someone who had a long history of their own, problems that very well may be worse than yours.

I knew from spending long, cold nights huddled up against Mr. Hardon's backside for warmth that he sucked his thumb while he slept, and he had the tendency to mutter dreamily about "Mommy" and "Daddy," and "the bad man with the cowboy hat who shot Andy."

"Wow, that was great, Coltrane," I said, now that everyone had finished laughing.

Coltrane pooched out his lips and nodded with pride. "Yeah, 'twas a'ight."

Squinting in a fiery manner, Seth stared deep into his boyfriend's eyes. "I thought it was amazing. You're so sexy when you tell stories about bj's."

"Well, I gotta lotta experience, babe." He winked.

The pair made out some more, while the rest of us nibbled on candy and tried to ignore it. They were the only couple in our group—the rest of us, if we'd had any, had lost our partners in the Civil War of 2016.

"I got thtory," Murv said, drool flooding from his mouth. I knew the man was brain-damaged and mostly blind from a life of drinking his own homemade moonshine. I also knew his whole family died tragically when his moonshine distillery exploded. "My thtory good. My thtory bigly."

The rest of the gang and I shared knowing glances.

"You don't have to," Andrea said, patting Murv on the head. She'd been a kindergarten teacher in the pre–President Trump world, before all the schools were shut down and education was outlawed. She was used to dealing with those who had sub–grade school intelligence. "Look!" She dug around her purse and pulled out a keychain. "Murv! A toy!" She jingled the keys.

Murv grinned and laughed and clapped. He pawed at the keys. It seemed he realized he was being trivialized, as he suddenly pouted and crossed his arms. "My thtory need tolding. You lithen. You lithen bigly now." A strange look crossed his face, possibly the ghost of his previous intellect. His eyes went bright like he knew the secrets of the universe, and when he made eye contact with us, we felt the need to glance away in shame. When he next spoke, his voice had changed, grown more adult: "Listen up, whippersnappers. My story is called

MY POISON KISS DOTH PURIFY by Holly_Gonzalez

Strobe lights flashed, electronic drums thumping. Sybelle claimed the stage as the dancers whirled aside, their nude bodies aglow in neon. The audience clapped and hollered. Another night, another spectacle to please the Cartel. At least Sybelle's performances earned enough to spare her from prostitution. Most of the women onstage weren't so lucky. Silver slave torcs gleamed around their necks, a reminder they were all prisoners. The Cartel pirates owned everything aboard Delirium 8, this corrupt pleasure station at the farthest bounds of the Star-ways.

Sheer veils drifted around Sybelle's slender figure as she swayed. Golden scales striped her face and limbs. She arched her back, and her hair fell in a lustrous black curtain to the floor. Pivoting on one nimble foot, she writhed before the drunken onlookers, and wireless tips flooded the currency drive embedded in her torc. All profit for the Cartel, her iron-fisted masters. Only a little trickled into Sybelle's account. Regardless, she'd saved for five years and almost had enough to buy her freedom.