Fury

“When we can not sleep we pretend we are dead.”

Rain splattered against the warped glass window across the room. The old clock on the wall competed to be heard above the noise. The woman leaned forward in her chair. “I don’t suppose you have trouble sleeping.”

The man did not reply. A pear-shaped drop of perspiration glittered beside his brow. It grew heavier and heavier and slid down his face. The woman reached out to catch it in her hand. “Have you ever played dead?” He watched as she licked his sweat from her fingers.

“You taste like you are afraid.” Her lips peeled back to reveal teeth filed to a dagger-like points. “You would taste better dead.”

She leaned back against her chair and removed a cigarette from her pocket. “I bet you would like one of these.” The man shifted uncomfortably in his chair. She reached forward and yanked the wadded up fabric from his mouth. He made rough hacking sounds as he gagged on air. The woman stood and looked down at him. “Dead men don’t breathe.” Her eyes bore into him. They were like two large black discs spinning like whirlpools of liquid shadow.

“We saw everything, you know.” She clicked a cheap plastic lighter until it ignited. Smoke began to rise from the fiery end of the cigarette. The man stared at the smoke as it twisted curled in long grey ribbons toward the ceiling. His breathing became agitated. He licked his lips and asked “What did you see?”

“We saw everything you did.”

“Who is we?” He began to tug at his restraints. “What do you think I did?”

“We do not think, we know.”

“Who the fuck is we?”

“We are the ones who see and the ones who know.”

“You’re bat-shit crazy is what you are lady. You don’t know shit.”

He rocked back and forth in the chair. “And what’s with the teeth? You one of those metal heads or something?” She flicked her tongue at the tips of her teeth. “I was born this way.”

“That’s fucking unfortunate.” He sneered. “Were you born with that kinky body paint too?”

He nodded toward the exposed skin of her forearms. “Christ it looks like snake scales.”

“No, not snake scales.”

“Is it a tattoo?”

“No.”

“Is it contagious?”

“No.”

“Good. I’d hate to catch some freaky scaly skin disease. No offense but you are pretty unfortunate looking.”

“Do you use that word a lot?”

“What word?”

“Unfortunate.”

“Maybe I do. Who cares?”

The man watched as a stack of ash fell to the floor. “Are you going to smoke that or waste the whole damn thing?” The woman flicked it twice between her fingers. “Do you want it?”

“You know I do!”

“Yes, we know.”

She bent at the waist and held the butt of the cigarette to his mouth. He took it in his teeth and sucked deeply. Smoke billowed from his nostrils and between his lips. He closed his eyes as they began to water. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“An addict is so predictable.”

The woman turned and walked toward the door as he grunted against the cigarette in his teeth. She slid something heavy from behind the door. “See how you cook yourself from the inside out.”

The man fought to open his eyes through the smoke. The room filled with a new smell. He began to choke and sob as he writhed in the chair once more. The woman poured out the contents of the gasoline can in her hands on and around the man. Then she placed the empty container at his feet. The rain continued to slam against the the window. The tick of the clock lost in the roar of water pounding glass.

“We will see you tomorrow.”