several times with the tray. “No! You hear me? No, no, no!” A thin trace of blood formed on Rosewater’s forehead. “You tricked me,” he muttered, the bitterness of two pills sliding uncomfortably down his throat. “You always trick me…” “Just
things. “Dr. Shire will hear about this.” Dazed, Rosewater looked towards the window. It was now shut and locked. The blue curtains no longer danced. He heard Nurse Diestrum shouting for Dr. Shire as the squeaks of her shoes moved out of the room and then quickened up and down the hall. He laughed; it was still amusing. Then he thought about his mother—her long, pudgy white fingers; the healthy round breasts spilling out; the thick, strong legs. He began masturbating to these visions. He continued doing so until the pills took him under, mid-stroke.
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Published on Sep 30, 2011
The Fine Line presents its third compilation of art, fiction and poetry by contributors Francis Raven, Michael Young, Dorothee Lang, Raj Sha...