Day Three Hundred and Thirty-Five.

2/12/14

Today’s theme: spit.

Izzy circle

izzy

She sticks a swab in my mouth and wiggles it around so I can taste the powdery blue of her gloves, feel the weird stumps of her fingers sliding up under my lips chipped and crackling. I think about biting her plasticine flesh fingers.
‘That’s it, all done,’ she squeaks like a fucken chew toy.
Her tits bob as she stands back and I watch. Think about shoving my face in her cleavage, her gripping the back of my head with rubber-gloved blue hands that don’t slide. Can’t feel. Think about ripping her buttons off with my teeth. Bitch.
‘Won’t take long. D’you want a cuppa while you wait mate?’
I spit on the floor, right next to her black polished boot. Far enough she can’t do shit. Close enough she knows. Her badge glints. Tight black hair shines.
‘Suit yourself.’
She goes and I want her to come back. Cuff me. Hold me. The walls bend and glow. Useless dried up hag thinks she own me, think I’d listen to anything comes out of her shrivelled mouth. Time drips like sour milk.

*

Sarah circle

sarah

There’s a string of spittle suspended from my lips hanging half an inch above your eyes and we’re frozen. Neither of us breathing. If I try to suck back this bubble-foam rope, it’ll snap and come to kiss your contact lenses, shatter your dignity, spray lunchtime’s garlic toasts across your wrinkled nose bridge. Between my thighs I can feel your stomach start to shake with the effect of keeping in two pints of old oxygen turning bad. I sway my head side to side like I’m listening to old music and the spit-string wobbles like you’re the pit and I’m the pendulum and it’s getting lower with every swing. Your eyes are starting to go red as carbon dioxide invades your retinas, bursting blood into the whites like tree roots in Spring. I’ve been raking my gaze across your face, across your pinkening cheeks, your six-year blackheads that you never let me squeeze, your shitty-shaved stubble and then I lock on with you and stare. A bubble seeps out between my lips. I make sure I’ve got your full attention, make sure every pinprick of you is looking at me, and then I open my mouth with a laugh like ‘Pah!’ and I watch in slow motion as the filthy spittle snake goes rushing out into the freedom of the air and down towards your horrified eyes.

*

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