Wishing Well

A bloody kiss from the wishing well. -an old prison rhyme

A bloody kiss from the wishing well was the last gift he gave me.

The sirens were growing stronger.

He pulled me close, leaving bright smears of red on my arms.

I thought, if only for a second, the trees could protect us.

Our breaths were visible in the air, mixing together, desperate to stay that way.

The sounds of the police cars were getting closer, starting to hurt my ears.

I squeezed my eyes shut willing them away.

I wept against him in the dark wondering if we’d see each other again.

Blue and red lights flooded our vision and my knuckles tightened around him.

Please don’t go turned into please don’t take him.

I watched as his hands were violently ripped from mine and the branches broke beneath my feet.

I watched as his body folded like a rag doll and shoved in the backseat.

I watched as the lifeless body was raised out of the hole in the ground.

Her eyes were still open, blood shot and branding into my flesh.

That’s when they came for me.

I tried to fight them, I tried to explain, I tried to save us until I couldn’t anymore.

The words died in my throat the way she did.

Slowly and painfully.

*Photo Credit*

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