aftertastes
you thought of him, taking a long drag off his cigarette. you wanted to be him, feel him, know what was under the clothes that saw better days, that smirk he shot you as you ambled past, conscious not to trip.
She patted her swollen belly. Something moved inside of her. A kick. She sighed.
I had none. I threw them away the moment I let you enter me. And as I came, a crash resounded. On the floor, they lay like pieces of broken glass. Each, ready to pierce my feet in retribution and punishment.
Why couldn't she embrace him? She could never accept him as a man who would love her daughter unconditionally. She hated the colour of his skin. She hated his accent. She hated the way he put his arms around her daughter.
Beloved? She hated that word. No reason either, just the sound of it. It was anathema to her ears.