JT Johnson

It surged onto the floor in a hot splash.

I couldn't stop.

The smell, the sight of Nona taking my insides and twisting them.

The mice had all returned to their chewing.

Three of Nona's fingers were missing, two had been gnawed to the bone.

A roach, large like the one in the kitchen, came tumbling out from behind her, scurrying across the lump of blankets, only to be caught by a fast-moving rat.

I went to turn away when I felt the cold, hard end of something crack into my temple.

I fell, first on my knees, then my side, another hard blow coming down, this time hitting the arm that I had flung up over my face.

I saw red, then white, then little glittering dots that took up too much of my vision.

Disorientation had taken hold, and I was blissfully unaware of where I was for what felt like a minute before I felt the weight of something push down on me.

Mom was on me, eyes black, her lips peeled back over her teeth, her hands were trying to get to my throat.

the asshole from the couch now standing behind her, his back twitching as he watched from the hallway door.

She was going to kill me.

This thought was not one of panic but simple observation.

Her hands found purchase on my throat briefly, squeezing down before I was able to shove her.

She was light, as if made of nothing more than coat hangers and cigarettes.

Her upper body spilled up and over me, one of her hands hooked into my hair, clawing wildly at the scalp.

Fucking Brett.

Little bitch.

I had potential.