[Gallagher]

Cold-shoulder

Fear twists in his chest as he stares ahead, a figure talking down to him with a sneer. He looks not to their face; no, he is on his knees, as he deserves to be. He trembles, fueling the other on, but he can't control himself. Louder. Always louder.

All it takes is one hit, the crack of flesh against flesh, and his eyes fall to the floor. He is still. They are still. It drips to the floor, parting their silence. He is still. He doesn't need to look up.

"Don't."

He is ignored.

One Message

Her voice always calls to me, telling me what I need to hear. Sometimes, I wonder, does she see what it means? I never change. Nothing ever changes. We're on a decline, and she keeps fighting. When night comes, that sound is the only one I hear. Hello. Are you feeling better? I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

Please, don't talk to me that way. I'm sorry. I don't mean to do this. Don't leave. Don't leave me.

All unspoken. Hours pass. She's still there. I give so little, yet she always offers much. Dawn comes. I don't know why I am awake. I didn't say goodbye. I let her sleep. But I want to hear it again.

Hello.

I'm sorry.