[Del]'s Diary

ENTRY SIXTY-SEVEN

I’m holding an empty shot glass tight in my bony fist. I squeeze it tighter and tighter, certain that if only I squeeze tight enough the glass will liquefy and impregnate my body with its molten skin, infecting my blood with its transparency. And then my whole body will be easy to shatter.

“Frankie?” a deep man's voice says. I look up to see a tanned and freckled diamond shaped face stare back at me. The room — a log cabin — is melting all around the man’s white Brillo pad hair.

“Sidney,” I manage to say, “Sidney. What have you put in my drink?” It feels as if I am talking in slow motion, while Sidney's body vibrates and twinkles in front of me. Several men in suits press down on me, their motions flaming in colors that I know Frankie has never seen before.

[Deleted]