SEVENTY-SEVEN

The Memories Of One Who’s Lost

It was the day after Samantha died. Lolita clung to her in her sleep, dreaming about good things. When she held Samantha’s body, she was lured into the deep, dark abyss where everything seemed okay. It was dark, but at least Samantha was with her. Samantha was her sunshine, the bright hay in the sack. She was the reason Lolita still stayed positive about her dead toe.

“See? It’s never going to get infected,” Samantha said, patting the empty spot where Lolita’s toe should have been. “He wrapped it up pretty shabbily but it’ll do.”

“Tell me about your childhood,” Lolita crooned, leaning in towards her. “I want to hear about it again. What were your parents like?”

Samantha rolled her eyes. “Oh you know, they adored me. They gave me so much that I'd never be able to work in my entire life.”

“True.” She giggled at her friend’s words. “But working seems hectic, right? I want to work. Sitting around can be so idle.”

“Yes. That’s why I involve myself in s