Member-only story
Nine
by Michelle Montoro
Racing, racing, racing, racing, racing.
Faster and faster until the explosion comes nearer and nearer to my heart.
“Why are you here? Why are you always here?” I asked the Indian chief in the living room.
“You are always standing here in the night, in the dark, in the blackness.”
Just standing there, staring at me with that scowl upon your dark dirty face.
So intimidating. So hostile.
“What do you want from me?”
“Don’t you know that you frighten me?”
“Please go away.”
All of it must go away.
I bless myself three times times three. That makes nine. Nine is safe.
Nine won’t harm me.
“But if you would just go the hell away from me, I would not have to count the blessings over and over and over again.”
If I miscount, and it becomes divisible by six, I will die. Satan will come. He will take me to God knows where. I won’t be safe. I can’t ever be safe.
“I can’t be safe until you go away.”
“Just go away.”
“Go the fuck away from me.”
“Now.”
