A Season in Hell IX

Stop, I scream, stop! I’m clutching the door handle to the fridge. Is it time for the deep freeze? Husband who gave me the silent treatment, again, again, is now going to give me the deep freeze. He’s giving me the deep freeze by staring into my black, beady eyes with a frozen stare. He’s staring me down while scaring me to death. Where the hell are my meds? Should I take the whole bottle? Will that send him away so I can be back in kitchen with the party lights on. Is this a funeral party? It must be. I’m attending my own funeral party.

Somehow, I get away and he disappears like a genie back into its bottle. I’m crawling, sniffing like a dog for the scent of my meds. I’m in the bathroom now. It’s dark in here. Shaking, I open the drawer where I keep the good medicine. The good medicine that will keep bad medicine men like my husband away. Down the hatch they go, under the vanity I hide. I have to hide. I hide all the time. There’s a lot of hiding to do to keep away Mother, Father and now my husband. I’m cupping the back of my head, reeling with the pain from those nails. Christ was nailed to death, now me. Wait it out, I think, wait it out till the meds kick in.

Filed under: Elizabeth Kirschner, Prose