A FLASH IN THE DARK
The Privie Markes
They told me their stories, the invisible dead.
The young man rubbed his hands and began his tale.
Young man nailed to a bed.
The young woman brushed her throat lightly with the tips of her fingers.
Young woman pursued through the night and throat cut.
The elderly man thought for a moment, sucking the end of his pen.
Elderly man forced to play Russian Roulette is shot in the mouth.
Did I wish to join their exclusive club?
It was but the work of a moment to bind my eyes, to relocate my body to I place I know not where, and then my blindfold was removed.
Around the table, and at ease, sat the other guests.
A young man with holes in his hands, a young woman with a gaping throat, and an aged man with a hole through his head. They all smiled at me and nodded in greeting.
“You see, in here we openly wear our wounds of our own making,” smiled the old chemist and offered me a cigar.
And now, I tell you my story, to make the invisible visible, to dine with the dead.