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o0o DESERT RAIN o0o
Benita: Sloth
Increased cranial pressure.
Pop.
No, Splat.
No, it's more intense. Brain between fingers, too complicated for feeling.
It is murder. Her first.
"Benita," the street shadow calls her out, finding her unsavory predicament, and bending his head full of dark hair to the tips of her bloody slime fingers, he is so much taller than her three feet height, and his open lips breath it in her children's fingers, "what have you done?"
What can she say?
He examines the pieces of the man that remains, splattered on the piss alley ground, analyzes the situation like his books he reads in the dead of the night, and she quakes for what comes next. No doubt cold anger would spread over Ralph at her murderous behavior, her guardian had little patience with bloodlust, and she for once feels guilty for it.
He had told her the consequences of killing a human.
He would no longer allow her to hunt alone.
He would no longer love her.
He did none of the above, "Let me, mi Nita," he licked her red fingers clean of evidence, professional and thorough. He was helping her, hiding her mistake, and protecting her from herself, once again.
"Muchas gracias," Benita is always thankful, very much, and yet she still feels the slipper jelly on her palms, tangy sweet in her nose, and it just makes her feel filthy in his golden eyes.
He recognized the face guilty face she would make, too intelligent for one that appeared so young.
"Vamanos, leave it there," he tells her and they fly fast down midnight cracked asphalt, the headless offerings rolling on the floor, and forgotten in a world of shifting shadows.
They race down piss stained alleys, crammed buildings looming overhead, cheap laundry flapping in the warm breeze, open windows meant to fight the heat, and to her the illuminated squares face off against the late black New Mexico night, rebellious and alive.
"Adonde esta Mama?"
"Not know Benita," he reminds her.
Despite the false light of the windows, she knows his face, "si Ralph," she says because there always seems to be more dark windows when they prowl. People are asleep in their rooms, and she yawns too. It is near her bedtime as Ralph escapes the city limits with her, yet it makes her wonder, her immortal neck craning to the sleep filled rooms,
who can find sleep in Hell?