On nights when I was home early, I’d try to get him to eat. He’d refuse. He’d just lay there and drink, sulking and pining over Mom. Many nights...I’d hear him crying, but usually, that was after he was nine beers in and drunk. I often just stayed in my room. I’d learned my lesson. One night, he was making funny noises, and I thought he might’ve been choking.He was choking, alright. He was choking the chicken. He had a pair of Mom’s panties that I guess she had left in the laundry basket, wrapped. "My darlings, in the beginning, we were one," Sheila said as she moved about the circle, and caressed her breasts. She smiled and stroked her belly as she slowly turned to connect her gaze with each set of eyes."We have been together since the dawn of the first day. The threads of our lives are woven together and are thus so entwined," she said as she interlocked her fingers and crossed her legs, and coiled about herself like ivy on the vine.The part of my mescaline soaked brain that thought it. More

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