Can’t sleep after early morning bladder alerts. Chris’ chest and back look identical. He was dreaming.

Using LED, the bathroom mirror was almost gentle with the lines and circles around my eyes.

Last week, tired of getting fucked dry, I stashed some lube in the medicine cabinet. Morning wood is less unbearable with it.

Bladder empty, maybe sleep can return, and almost got close, with the pillow and sheet tucked under my chin. His tongue was dry and sticky.

He was poking the roof of my mouth when I first heard the drums.

“Hear that baby? That’s for us.”

“Am I first?” I asked.

“Oh no. They’ll get started before I’m done with you here.”

Everyone was gathered in the parking lot. There had been a line to enter the stadium, but the guillotine was placed in the middle of a wide stretch of asphalt.

There was no need for traffic control, because they started the fire in the VIP section and it consumed the trees too.

The drums came from a few dozen people. Methodically, they moved around the lot, closing in towards the guillotine.

We approached, hand in hand.

“My love, attend to the sacrifices,” he told me, hands cradling my face. “Yours will bring me much success.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Sing. Thunk,” went the guillotine.

Crouching towards the nearest severed head, another face rolled onto my toes.

Thick red drops, from the entire surface of the neck, soaked my socks.

Lifting blonde hair onto my palm, it’s mouth was agape, a silent scream, and those green eyes, still awake.