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.
Unalterably.
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.
