Sixty-Six
Every step toward our spot is heavier than the last. My feet are dragging as if my shoes are made out of cement. I check my phone, but there’s no message or missed call from Isis. As I get closer to the structure, I notice a form under a nearby tree. The closer I get, the clearer the features are. Isis is waiting for me, and I hope it hasn’t been for long. She stands as I get closer to her; her expression is neutral. I stop inches in front of her, trying to figure out what to say. My mouth is dry, and my tongue feels as if it has swelled. I don’t want to do this. I don’t know how to do this. I feel like a piece of sh.it, but I don’t know what else to do. “Hey.” Her voice is soft, but the feeling I usually get from hearing it is laced with guilt. I actually feel guilty for being with Isis
- Writer
