144 The Meadow The imposingly tall tan building was uptown, and drunks rarely shambled toward its holy crosses, pews, and stained glass illuminated angels. Seraph’s faces wrenched toward exclusive heavens, shunning away from the sinners painting their walls. The chilled can pressed into her irritated cuts, through greying, smeared bandages and soothing the forearm of its dull throbbing pleasure. Surroundings lacking a witness, she began to cleave. The bright dripping lines slithered over the wall, each stroke of aerosol was a blade reducing her parents to slivers, obliterating that dog’s former owner. Their crimson spouted out, an arc of carnage drowning begging bricks, and into her crying gashes. At the end, the moon was overhead, the nightlight shone down upon the pair of angels embracing one another on the wall, long blonde hair in a halo around the two women’s heads. Their prismatic wings outstretched, their lips so close.
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