Munchausen (98 words)

Before this, I’m lonely.

She radiates heat. She’s half asleep, but I part her cracked lips with mine. Her breath is caustic, mouth like stale crackers. I cool her neck with a needful touch, caressing swollen lymph nodes.

“Sara, what’re you doing?” She’s bleary-eyed.

It’s my sister in our parents’ bed. They take good care of her.

“It’s the fever,” I tell her, wrapping her in my spider limbs. “You’re hallucinating.”

I brush the hair from her sweaty forehead and her body relaxes. I savor the lingering taste of her saliva. It tastes like the promise of love.

Originally published 9/15/16 on The Drabble.

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Midwest fiction writer hailing from the Mitten State. Not nearly as clever as I pretend to be.

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