by Megan Larson
“It’s called a lobotomy,” the doctor explains. “Your father thinks this is for the best.”
Embarrassed by my outbursts, Father abandoned me in Bedlam with only my memories as solace.
I’m sorry, Daddy.
He tightens the leather straps confining me to the chair and grabs a knife. Warm blood oozes down my face. “Count backwards.”
“10, 9, 8…”
I remember the sun’s warmth kissing my skin and waves crashing. Taste the salty air and listen to my siblings’ laughter. Mother’s gentle, beautiful face.
“5, 4, 3…”
The ocean evaporates. It is silent and cold.
He stops cutting.
Megan Larson lives in Indiana with her husband, adorable dog and treacherous parrot. She writes fantasy but wants to explore horror and sci-fi.