Whisper

I remember all those ferrets running 

around at Todd’s house. I remember 

wondering how you ended up there. 

It was hypocritical of me at the time. 

We lived like slumber parties, without 

school, and we were grown-ups 

without places to live. Fear grips my 

throat, did we believe he didn’t 

know? Our pupils—black lakes—you 

could swim in them. I assumed you 

used him for a place. I couldn’t fault 

you for that. I remember my ears 

ringing, lights exploding in the black 

behind my eyes. We tried to breathe 

without a sound, and kept a lookout 

for him, coming down the stairs. 

I jumped up and slid the glass pipe 

into the waistband of my sweatpants. 

It burned. The scar is there. One of 

many that whisper my name.

By Melissa Lemay

From: United States

Website: https://melissalemay.wordpress.com