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Theater of the picayune


Theater of the Picayune
 
Sweat drips down my back.
"Do you feel better?" Lance asked, righting his pants.
I fumble for a reply, hoping he didn't see when I cried, "Lightly."
"They say it gets better," he didn't mean it tawdry, stating a flat fact.
"Who's they?"
"The ones who placed us here."
"Oh... I see."
"Another night filled with screams."
"At least we receive dopamine."
"That's what they compensate for," his smirk is pure theater.
Just like the camera staged at our cage.

Joy4no1

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