JT Johnson

I reached onto the wall, flicking the switch.

It was the roaches I saw first, scattering like living shadows.

They had been on the bed, the floor, the wall, living freely in the dark, thriving even.

I wondered with horror when the light had even been on last for there to have been so many.

My second thought, reeling with shock, wondered where Nona was, if not in her room.

But then I saw the bed.

A fat mouse, maybe even a rat by the size of it, was hunched on the narrow, thin dip of Nona's shoulders.

Its whiskers and nose were red and slick.

I could hear the quiet gnashing of teeth against skin.

The yellow flesh of Nona's earlobe tugging into the fat rat's mouth.

Bits of raw scalp poked out from the tufts of gray hair, the marks like small strawberry stains.

Bite marks were everywhere.

Trunks of her face were missing.

Her eyes wide.

No.

No, she has no eyes.

My head feeling swollen as I stared into the wide, gaping eye sockets.

There was a squelching sound, followed by a thick glop of something dark red rolling out from one of the eye sockets.

It was a blood-soaked field mouse.

I threw up.