Molotov Cocktail
Darkness didn’t bother me. I’d been conditioned to hide in it most of my life. Sleeping was the problem.
When I laid down to rest, hunger and exhaustion caught up with me. I’d begin to hallucinate about that night. The sticky evening grass under my head, the cool cotton of her sundress against my legs, one of her blonde curls wrapped around my pointer finger as she dipped her head, meeting my lips with hers. Laying down was all I looked forward to. Then one night, the vision changed.