Arms folded, a frayed red X over her chest, the girl squints slivers of almond. She gawks at the investigating officer who leans forward, ostensibly hiding her breath within the hidden chambers of dilated irises.
Anticipation forces a cheap ballpoint to crack between the woman’s teeth when the door slams and a tree of a man enters, the echo of his heavy footsteps thuds and vibrates shivers through the haze, a suffocating web composed of nicotine-stained secrets that drape over his head like a soiled burqa where he takes his place at the table, hands in his lap.
A shuffle of feet like a mischief of mice scurrying for cover under the table when a thick needle punctures the suspect’s upper thigh. Her leg goes cold, like a piece of ham, she mumbles. The poison elongates its brutal feelers. Veins pop out over her forehead and under her eyes. The girl’s bamboo wrists and chopsticks fingers slam onto the metal table surface that shakes in liquid chrome waves.
The grey walls sweat as they’re moving in closer underneath the ceiling fan that’s causing a storm.