Life.exe by Stephen Moles

8.

I awoke the following morning to the flapping of the wings of the building. I peered out of my bedroom window and saw Betty in the garden, turning in circles and grinning ecstatically. Blue upper body, she seemed to be vanishing into the wounds of a white road.

When she saw me at the window, she laughed and staggered back to the house, apparently not noticing that she was trampling flowers beneath her feet. As she came closer, I could see clearly that her eyes were completely glazed. All the land in jail contained in two rocks, mouthing the words “I am the night”, she stopped before the window and began slowly touching her legs. Betty seemed so unsteady that I initially thought she was rubbing herself in order to stave off numbness and remain upright, but the rubbing was so slow and sensual that she seemed to be doing it for pleasure. She lifted up her skirt and pulled down her tights to reveal a garden of flesh longing for expansion of the path goes down.

I turned my face away in embarrassment but a sudden movement seen from the corner of my eye made me turn back: Betty had toppled over and was technically shutting down on the grass, school rules to the outside world.

“Betty!”

I rushed out to find my business partner on the lawn, breathing heavily and doing the long-term body disease.

“Are you OK?” I asked, stroking her forehead.

“I’ve fallen,” came the reply. “I touched you when you fell; now it’s your turn. I’m a woman. Sing, waltz and be fascinated by me.”

Her chest was heaving and her cheeks were flushed. She continued rubbing herself despite seeming only half conscious. I had to keep putting her clothes back in order as her wandering hands attempted to remove them.

“Play with me!”

“I’m not able to play, Betty. I need to get you inside. You’re sick.”

“Rub me. Make a picture for the kind director.”

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