Friday, Apr. 23, 2004 @ 5:15 pm
The Cart of Death
The mice, still warm, difficult to grasp, their bodies flopping and bloated. Black eyes become vacant rightnow, when that last shakey air-starved breath twitches reflexively through their white/black/brown bodies. Mouths frozen open in eternal suffocation.
I start to count the bodies that go into the waxed brown paper bag. One, two, ten, ninety, one hundred and sixty five...
I've been holding my breath, breathing shallowly, even though the fresh kill is odorless. Dizzy, nauseous, I nearly break my shell of unblinking reticence.
How will this come around back to me? I've taken far too many lives already...
The Ghetto Zoo tally: 7 fish, 2 mice, 3 chinchillas.
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