“day one;
a baby-faced image stared back at him, full of youth and life. he swallowed hard.

day two;
the thoughts that plagued his mind were too hard to forget. he smiled down at her, a strained sort of feeling.

day three;
he thought he’d be able to forget.
boy, was he wrong.
he smiled, a jagged sort and walked down the hall.

day four;
his fingers trembled. it wasn’t long before he went scavenging for things to make him feel numb.

day five;
he’d come home, blurry-eyed and high on bittersweet memories.
boy, was it hard.

day six;
pacing in the flat. back and fourth, back and fourth.
trembling hands, clenched in fists, white knuckles adorned with red.

day seven;
he brushed back her hair, kissed the top of her head and locked the door.

day eight;
he caught his mother on the floor. she hunched in the dark, with agonizing pressure over her shoulders. she wailed.

day nine;
to hell with them.

day ten;
was the day he was dreading. we’ll knock down the door, they said. his mother left it to swing ajar. he held her behind him. “to hell with them,” he’d say. she hugged his torso. his mother screamed. in the second he looked away, she was gone.

day eleven;
he sobbed. no matter how high he could get, the pain wasn’t going away. ecstasy was no more. “may we meet again,” she said. the door closed behind her.
he opened his hand. he clutched a ribbon of red silk. “may we meet again.”