You sat quietly, waiting for the drop. Dread rose off you and drifted into the air. It wasn’t purposeful, maybe it was; But it didn’t matter anyway, you had her and that’s what counted. She nestled her chin into your shoulder and let it sit there, unbothered. She was comfortable, that was good. You looked out onto the hills and waited, holding your breath. Glancing at her, your girl, unburdened by the weight of this mistake. But you did this for her. You did this for her. Then you saw him. It took a moment for her to process the image, it was gruesome really. He was planted at the bottom of the hill, his eyes were glassy, like someone had blown fog right past the corneas. He wavered for a moment before dragging himself upward. Eyes go wide, and she recoils, unhinging her chin from the place where it had remained. That was not good, you thought. You held her hand, but she flinched, like she knew somehow. How could you remedy this?
He looked like bread, you could see his organs, they came apart and intersected like raw sourdough. Like the yeast colony had become infected, and rotted from the inside. She looked him over, her eyebrows knitted together. She was concerned, scared maybe, you thought. But you could fix this, you could fix it. His bread body moved like molasses, dragging rot through the grass. She turned to look at you, really look, and confirm what she had suspected. How could you come back from this? She knew, that much was clear. You looked at her, and tried to formulate some way to make this better. “I’m sorry” hesitated on your tongue, but it was over, no going back. She stared at your lips as you drew up excuses, a way to rectify this mistake. You just wanted her to be happy, you did this for her. It was all for her. Guilt crawled its way up your throat, sat decaying on your tongue, and she could see it. In her eyes, the love corroded. She walked down the hill, the grass was cold, and she didn’t have shoes. He dragged himself towards her, sourdough sloping to one side, and she met him at the bottom. She searched his foggy eyes, finding only bread and decay. Then she took both her hands and pushed him backwards. He fell like cement, his dough body deflated. She stood over him. He seeped whatever made him up, and it pooled at her feet. How could you make this better?