Once again it had happened. An Objective? No......

A compulsion? Maybe.......

Smile. Validate their reality little girl. Breathe deeply, deepen that accent, square up those shoulders, and push out those breasts. Pretend, fantasize, imagine that you are more than just a pulsating pound of tissue. Give them what they want, read them....... Ignore the bitter taste in the back of your throat... It’s a minor detail really.

Flesh. Slick and moist. Breath, hot and almost rancid not quite but almost. It’s always almost...... Small hairs rise, air escapes in a puff. Groans, gasps, shudders and weezes; symphonic, an orchestral arrangement at once shabby and pitiful. Fingernails rake skin. Red lines and desperation.

Eyes close and for one moment, Existence. The sweet taste of being inundates a tongue, taste buds deadened by animosity awakened . The taste of flower petals, chocolate everything that is good, or so we are told.

Shuddering now, eyes open, nostrils flare. Red lines, minor before give way under harsh scrutiny. Fluid, metallic, flavorful. Snarls escape parched lips, colors swirl, crowd vision. One final shiver.

It’s acrid now, the taste. Physical implementation. The snarling, grinning brute walks away, he is marked. A familiar quiver stealthily dissipates.

Almost, it’s always almost.

Smile.