Page 47

thigh. “My

God!”

Nurse

Diestrum

turned

and

struck

Rosewater

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

you

wait,”

said

Nurse

Diestrum,

gathering

up

her

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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The Fine Line Issue 3  

The Fine Line presents its third compilation of art, fiction and poetry by contributors Francis Raven, Michael Young, Dorothee Lang, Raj Sha...