The Pillow

written for a contest in less than 20

There was silence

As the cool side of the pillow stared back at him

A silhouette of soft curls pressed into the cloth

Yet within those folds lived endless echoes

Of sobs, moans, screams, and gasps

It, a landing pad for transient fatales seeking some sense of fulfillment

Who woke up only to find a crisp Jackson with a note saying

“go get some breakfast”

Out they went eager with expectation

And he sat watching them from the shades of the linen closet with cold eyes

Knowing that the door would be locked when they returned

Deep wallows formed under his eyes, their gullibility was astounding

Yet they never stopped

Always they came, and always he watched them leave unaware of his disgust, and his anguish.

For on that very same pillow another set of curls once lay

Those of a woman dear to his heart

Stricken by a mosquito reaper that gave her the kiss of death

she passed into the beyond

Leaving only warm memories and the smell of sweet perfume

that lingered in the sheets

So he invited the women, watching their lust and envy from behind the glass wall of his indifference

Yet despite all their sobs, moans, screams, and gasps

There was a noise

The dull roar of the waterfall grew louder

Until it engulfed him

drowning him so that when he emerged

instead of the ringing in his ears he heard:

“I love you, always”

And then

 silence, again.