The Briefcase

Mar 26th, 2012 | By | Category: Fiction

BLT with avocado and herbed mayo.

The room was square and black,

black like dead man lips.

A door opens, piss yellow light snakes

through. He follows,

I can’t see his face.

With his left hand he tugs the dangling

chord, corpse cold. Sterile

light drips from overhead.

Underneath is a flimsy, rectangle table.

With his right hand he places a chrome

briefcase upon it. Once un-

hinged the lid opens

like the trunk of a hearse.

Inside is a sandwich.

Its eyes dart around,

pupils dilate to adjust to the bright light. Squinting,

it whines, almost inaudibly. It knows its fate.

He removes the sandwich and places it on the table.

Next is the blade. He takes a moment

to admire its efficiency as the metal glints

in the light. I hear the sandwich scream,

like a man with no tongue, as its halves

are separated by serrated edges. Its suffering

is muted

as the man chews.

I still can’t see

his face.

 

Photo by mamojo

 

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