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Table
so much happens at the table, maybe it's the Thanksgiving table, or worktable, whichever, make the narrative center around the table, poetry or prose :)
__abby__ in Flash Fiction

When We Meet Again

The gentle flame ignites once more,

the shape of your face contorting in the dim light,

turning to shadows as you whisper softly.

The grotesque grin on your face is enough to induce nausea,

my stomach churns as your words fall flat.

They’re lost on me,

I’ve no strength but to stare across the table.

I see your mouth moving but hear nothing you say for a long moment.

Some of your words finally break through the haze-

It was all you.

It was always you.

I’m suddenly on the cold, hard floor.

I’m shaking violently,

tears fighting to escape my tightly pinned mouth.

You’ve sewn my lips shut.

You’ve told your last stories about me.

Should have made the last one count.

You silenced me for good this time.

I sit up,

stunned by how good you suddenly look.

Your face turns beautifully perfect,

like when I first met you.

You hug me,

and I lean into your strong embrace.

That’s right.

You’re okay,

You’re mine.

I allow myself to be your puppet.

I am yours.

And it all goes dark again.

I am 21 years or older.