One, Please.

by Cooper Young

He stood and pressed his ear to the wall.

“A large one, if you have any left. I know it’s that time of day.” Their voices made him sick. Glutinous, drooling voices pitched almost below the range of human hearing. They were wrong, too wrong to be real. He couldn’t imagine what the creatures must look like.

“Plenty. Male or female?”

“Male.” His throat tightened.

“Alright.” There was a click, and the room slid forward. He fell against the wall. The customer spoke again, but he couldn’t hear what was said over his own screams. The room jerked to a halt.

“I’m sorry, I just prefer them. It’s the only brand that does the sedative injections; the rest have that adrenaline aftertaste. I can’t stand it.”

“Not a problem. I know what you mean. Gives me a headache.”

“Saving them for yourself, then. I’m on to you.” They both laughed politely, and a room–a different room–moved somewhere along the line.

He curled into a ball and wept.

A Note: Originally written as an entry for Trifecta: Week Ninety-One, but I then realized I’d gone and used the word wrong. Oh well. It’s been removed from the challenge, but it’ll stay here.

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