Coka-Cola


Coke-Cola

I opened the stuck door of the humming vintage refrigerator I call the icebox. Bending slightly at the waist I pushed to the side an open Tupperware container sitting on the top shelf. This faded ampoule was still full of yesterday stroganoff and white rice. Hidden behind a jar of mayonnaise I spied a nice cold bottle of Coke-Cola. As the bent metal cap hit the floor and the stinging burn caressed my throat, I watched you swallow your two pills. The first pill halted procreation. The second pill keeps the community inside your head silent and unnoticed.

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