Pandora Post Mortem


   It’s about three in the morning when I’m roused by someone whispering me softly awake. I know who it is before I open my eyes but it still startles me to see her face so close to mine. There’s a haunting blue hue playing across her stone skin from the light of the night outside. It shimmers on her cheeks and forehead, accentuating the curves of her face. It’s all rather fitting in a morbid sort of way.

  “Pandora,” I groan once I’ve caught my breath, “don’t do that to me, you scared me half to-” I catch myself before I make the mistake but I have the feeling the damage might have already been done.

  “Sorry,” she says quietly, looking only slightly hurt. She pulls back from the intense proximity and shuffles a little further away on the mattress to make up for it. I can’t help but grin in the darkness. She’s cute, I’ll give her that.

  “No problem, I guess,” I say, sitting up and grabbing my jeans from the floor beside the bed. She watches me intently as I forage for a loose cigarette stashed in the back pocket. I find one and light up, reaching behind me and pushing open the window above my headboard as I do.

  “They’re bad for you,” she mumbles, so quietly I’m not sure if she intended for me to hear. We have a fight every time she brings this up. She looks like she wants to talk tonight, so I’m guessing not.

  “What’s up, Pandora,” I ask, pretending I didn’t hear.

  “Just lonely, I guess,” she says, clicking comfortably into our routine, “do you want to play videogames?”

  As she asks the door to the bedroom creaks open and we both look, – despite everything Pandora’s still scared at surprises like this – to see Tom pad his way in. We both smile at him as he mews, looking up at us, expectantly.

  “Tommy,” Pandora says, a warmth I’m not used to saturating her voice. She’s off the bed and next to the kitten in an instant, scratching behind his ears tenderly. He rubs up against her leg and purrs.

  “He wants something,” I mumble, sucking the last dregs of life out of the cigarette and stubbing it out in a cup on the bedside table.

  “Oh,” she starts, “kittens as cute as Tom don’t have ulterior motives, do you Tombo? Let’s get you some milk.”

  She stands and walks out of the room and the tabby follows her, content, no doubt, that his plan came to fruition so quickly. Little shit.

Dedicated to my brofriend. You know who you are.


~ by Joseph Blame on August 21, 2010.

One Response to “Pandora Post Mortem”

  1. yep, I know who I am.

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