Hooks

Meat hooks hung from the rafters of the abandoned mill.

The wind pushed them back and forth like a pendulum. Rain, pouring in through the collapsed roof, polished their edges as if they were recently sharpened. Hundreds of hooks danced to the pitter patter of the puddles and leaking pipes. Their chains, together, sang a solemn waltz.

Amelie hung from the meat hooks in the abandoned mill.

The prongs pierced her porcelain skin as she hung like portioned pork. Naked, her skin glimmered in the rain, illuminated by the exposed lightbulbs dangling from discernibly pulpy wire. The more she struggled against their grasp, the tighter the hooks held her, entangling their fingers beneath her skin.

Day after day, Amelie hung, there; her innocence and naivete exposed for the world to see. Family, neighbors, and coworkers strode passed the mill’s oversized and broken windows, waving as they went about their routine. Some would smile, and others would attempt to strike up conversation.

“Beautiful day, Amelie!” an old friend shouted from the sidewalk, bearing big white teeth that glistened in the sun.

Amelie struggled against the weight of her chains, trying to cover her private vulnerability. She was a mannequin to a window shopper. “Hope you enjoy the weather,” she said with a feigned smile.

She watched as blood streamed down her leg and dripped off her big toe. The droplet quickly mixed with the puddle beneath her.

Amelie was afraid of everything. Disappointment. Disease. Death.

But Amelie was most afraid of the meat hooks that hung in the abandoned mill.

Tomorrow, she’ll stay in bed to avoid them.