I’m in New Orleans. It’s dark. The TV is off but its small red light was casting a sick, red and ominous flicker - brighter than any tv light ive ever been enveloped in. All across the hotel walls. He won’t stop. My mom will be back soon. I don’t want to. The smell of stale beer reeks off him from the big-ass drink he carried down Bourbon Street, cutting right through the damp air of the room. I have a soccer game at 8 AM. My cleats are by the door. My mom is downstairs at the hotel bar. Have you ever tried to shield your hiney from a spanking with both hands flat out, knowing your fingers won’t do a damn thing? My mom is about to come back. Like, fuck, dude, no. He looks at me—through me. The room goes dead silent. I see pure, black evil behind his eyes for a second, hollow and weightless. Soon I'm face down. Blood. For days. “Go shit that out.” It wasnt a long encounter. He could never remember, i know that look.. he wasnt coherent. But i will never forget. The hotel door handle clicks and starts to turn.
