The Girl

She was waiting there, on the back porch, standing just as I had left her. There was nothing in the kitchen. No food. Nothing had been touched. Came back out to her. Standing there looking at me with the same glazed-over look that Winston had when I told him to do something.

No food after a day of heat and apes.

“Why is there no food?” I shouted at her.

She just stood there on the porch, back against the night, collarbones stretching the skin tight, eyelids fluttering lightly.

“Why?”

I was up close to her, and met only a stolid silence. Then it occurred to me that she thought that if I saw she wouldn’t work, I would send her back. I drew my hand back and slapped her across the face. She fell down on the porch with barely a sound, then rose on her hands and knees, licking the little slit of blood on her lip.

A beast of desire seized me and I dragged her up by the hair.