blackmail press 28
Sharon Reece               
New Zealand

Kitchen - Charles Olsen
You and I

You came to me with a tear in your eye and your heart in your hands. 'Look,' you whispered, pointing to a small crack in the soft-beating heart, 'it hurts more than you'd believe.'

I stood a long while; days, maybe weeks, and then reluctantly I cradled it in my own hands. The instant your hands were free of the weight, your body became limp as if neither muscle nor bone lay beneath your skin. You fell deep into me.

I carried you for months. Every movement was made through me. Every word, every breath.  Being needed was a feeling so foreign to me and it wasn't long before it consumed me. I controlled you. I was god.

Your fragile heart still lay in the palm of my hand. One morning, I became curious of how it worked and pried open the small crack with the tip of my finger. When I saw the way it crippled you, I felt empowered. Stronger than I'd ever felt before. I continued to tunnel in and as I did, I saw the darkest corners it hid.

Soon I was in deep. I couldn't stop now. I turned it inside-out and ripped at what it had once held. I lay it flat on the floor. You were too weak to fight, too tired to scream. You just lay there, next to what was left of the heart you were once so eager to hand me.

My feet had been cold long before I hurt you. Now they were frozen solid. I walked away from you, treading on the mess I had made as I did so, leaving what was left of your heart in a thick layer of ice.