Sometimes you write something without quite knowing what's going to happen. This week's Indies Unlimited is just such a beast. We were given this photo:
There is always an option text prompt. Sometimes I completely ignore it. This time I sorta borrowed it. I came up with the first two sentences, and then thought
But eventually it came to me. And I'm pretty happy with the result, "Imprisoned."
The bald cypress can live 1,000 years. That number corresponds exactly with my sentence.
If I remembered how many people I’ve killed, I might feel some remorse. But I don’t. So I can’t. It’s not in me.
Killing. That’s in me.
It’s like a hunger, of sorts. But not quite.
People speak of watershed moments. That split-second decision which puts you on the left fork, rather than the right. The one which changes the course of your life.
My watershed moment came the day I spilled her blood. We met at a bar. Naturally. She seemed young, too young. I swear, I swear, I swear that I was about to pay for my beer and leave. I should have.
But her eyes.
They were... beyond mesmerizing. They were hypnotizing.
I walked over and made chat. Soon, we were driving back to her place. She lit candles, incense, then poured two tall glasses of red, and handed me one.
“Cabernet?” I asked.
“No,” she said, taking a lusty swig. “Blood.”
I threw it in her face.
The lesson? Never cross a voodoo queen.
One thousand years of imprisonment in the body of the un-dead. Feasting on humans. Not because I want to. Because I have to.
That’s why I troll the swamps around the LCIW, officially the Louisiana Correctional Institute for Women. The escapees are easier to overcome. They’re softer. And desperate, since the LCIW is the state’s female death row.
Though their brains are messed up, too.
And remember kids, please stop by Indies Unlimited this Wednesday afternoon (5:00 p.m. - ish EST to 8:00 p.m. sharp) and vote.