Alex P Gary

Lament of the Damned

“Darling?” That familiar voice echoes in my skull. I can feel my eyes glazing over, a cesspool of cheap, tasteless liquor churning around in my stomach. My calloused fingers trace over the dirty floor, searching blindly for my one and only memento. Skin making contact with the familiar material, I slip the chain into my grasp and lift it into the air, dingy light reflecting off the object.