Page 1 of Sour

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“Remember, Ziggy.” My attorney leaned in close and whispered to me, her shriveled up lips moving while I tried not to choke on the overbearing smell of her perfume. The hag reeked like a corpse, soaked in the kind of potpourri you’d find lying around your grandmother’s house. Fucking nauseating. I couldn’t hear a word she muttered, too focused on trying not to gag on the cheap smell, glaring at the smeared lipstick across her stained teeth.

“Ziggy.” My eyes raised to hers. “Did you hear me?” I nodded as if I’d heard anything she had to say. “Good. Now, keep your head down and your mouth shut. And for God’s sake, whatever you do Ziggy, do not smile.” Without even a thought, I breathed a gentle smile at my attorney’s words. “I’m serious, Ziggy! If you want this to go right, you need to do as I say, and try to behave.”

“Sure thing, Florence,” I teased. “But if I have to behave, so do you. So watch how you fucking speak to me.” I blew a strand of hair from my face. “Now, stop worrying about me and just fucking do your job.” She tensed at my quiet threat.

“Behave.”

I laughed to myself.

Fucking behave. The old hag is acting like I’m just some bitch on a leash, waiting to be led around on my daily walk. Ha! I guess she’s forgotten who I really am. Maybe I should remind her.

“Hey Florence.” Her foggy eyes fell to me, and I played with my cuffs. “Want to see if I can break free from these?” The little color in her face drained, and I continued to smile. “I heard a story once, about a man who broke free of his cuffs. They said he chewed his way free, gnawing at his flesh until he could just slip his hands through. Used his blood like some kind of lube.” I chuckled faintly to myself. “Genius really. But a waste. I wonder, if I broke my wrist and fingers just right.” I raised the cuffs high and playfully pretended to snap my wrist, laughing as she watched me. “Think it would work? I’m dying to find out.”

Florence stared with a flat look across her face. It was amusing to watch her reactions. “Ziggy, please, just try to remain still. And let me do my job. Unless you’d prefer to go to prison.”

Boo.

“You’re no fun,” I grumbled. My smile faded and I immediately lost interest in the old woman as I slouched in my chair.

I sat there, impatiently waiting for this circus to begin. Court was boring as hell. Everyone was always on edge, trying to behave for some fat fuck in a robe to call the shots. So pathetic. Koven was lucky not to have to go through this shit show.

Koven.

The sheer thought of her name lifted my mood as I pulled a folded photograph from my pocket and eyed it closely. A few fragments of the picture were faded and rubbed due to how I had kept it folded and hidden. It was the only thing that mattered to me, and it was worth the risk of getting caught with it in my possession.

My fingertip glided along the grainy image and I began a silent conversation.

Think this old bitch can really make this arraignment go my way?

I stared at the photo; the image burned into my mind’s eye after memorizing it for so long. Koven didn’t reply.

Well, she better. There’s no other option. No other way to see you. And I need to fucking see you. I need to be with you, Koven. Always.

My fingers gently traced over the distorted photograph of Koven. The photograph had been snapped while Koven was in the hospital, bleeding out and nearly dead. Oh, what a sight it was, seeing Koven frozen in the cold embrace of death. I fucking envied her, wishing we could’ve met it together.

One day, Koven.

The image had since been kept paper-clipped in her file, until I claimed it for myself. During one of Florence’s visits prior to arraignment, she’d brought a thick file dedicated to Koven. She’d given it to me, explaining the nonsense within it, talking about Koven’s mental health and record, things I already knew. The old hag had gone on and on, explaining something about the state taking custody or an asylum, and more shit I didn’t careabout. Eventually, I just tuned her out. None of it mattered to me, none, except the photo.

My eyes scanned the image, remembering the night it was taken, capturing Koven lifeless in a hospital bed. At the time, everyone had thought she was dead, but Koven had survived. And since I learned of her fate, all I wanted was to be with her. It was my only purpose, the drive behind every breath I took. She was my reason for living, and I would do whatever I needed to be with her again.

“Ziggy,” Florence groaned. “What did I tell you about that photo?” I brushed her concerns away with a smile.

I’d originally slipped it from the file into my pants without Florence knowing. It took her days to realize the photo was even gone, and by then, she’d learned not to demand such a thing from me. Thankfully, unlike my previous attorney, Florence didn’t fight back. A smart move, considering I would’ve snapped her weak little neck if she did. She must’ve been smart to some degree, I mean she made it this far. My last attorney didn’t have the stomach for my crimes and taunting. She quit on her third day of representing me, whereas the one before her was just a weak little bitch who couldn’t handle my personality.

How could you not love someone like me?

Florence shuffled closer and whispered, “Ziggy, put that away. Now.” I grimaced at the sound of her voice.

Florence was past the age of retirement, yet still kicking as if she had some overzealous point to prove, acting like any old bag of bones could be an attorney. Hell, the woman must’ve been old enough to be my great-grandmother, at the very least. If her age wasn’t problematic enough, her attitude sure was.

Florence snapped her fingers at me, like a fucking dog.

Fucking Florence.

I hated everything about my attorney. She reminded me too much of my grandmother with her thin, balding white hair andthe pungent smell of death that lingered around her like a dark storm cloud. Not to mention, that wrinkled hide she called skin, stretched along her skeleton. It was like being forced to play nice and sit next to my dead grandmother. I hated it, constantly faced to remember how the old woman used to beat me, just like my father, constantly criticizing my existence. I tried to endure her abuse, letting her hurt me over and over again. That is, until one day, she learned what happens when a beaten dog finally bites back. Oh, I’ll never forget the look on her face. How her eyes widened with such delicious fear. It was so unfortunate how the old woman died from such a terrible…accident. At least, that’s what everyone believed. Old people really shouldn’t stand so close to an open oven. Their bones are so weak, and you never know when gravity, arthritis, or a resentful grandchild might strike. Poor women. She burned for hours, writhing away as I helplessly sat there and watched, listening to her muffled screams. I still remember how oddly comforting they were, paired with the rich smell of her burning flesh. I still remember standing there, smiling, and watching her burn, even long after her screams melted away. I didn’t shed a single tear until paramedics arrived and pried her cooked corpse from the oven. It was sad to see it all end so soon.

I inhaled, remembering the smell of my grandmother’s wrinkled flesh as if it still lingered in the air. I could almost taste it in my mouth.