The Victim Speaks
She kept telling me she loved me. She'd run her fingers through my hair. She'd brush my hair daily, nuzzle her cheek into me and stroke me endlessly until I was almost in a frenzy of excitement under her small cool hand.

Every morning and every evening we'd take a walk - she'd talk about what had happened that day. She'd talk about her dreams, her hopes, her fears.

I listened.

Always listened.

I listened patiently, quietly, knowing I was safe and secure in her love, or at least I thought I was.


She bought herself the very best of everything - she said she had a delicate stomach and needed to have only the most expensive food - never any Tesco Value crap, oh no, only the very best Marks and Spencers' food.

She wore good clothes, even when we went walking she'd always be togged up to the bloody nines. She'd wander around the house in silk underwear and we slept on silk sheets.

Me? I was simple, I could get by with very little.

On that final day though, the day when it all went tits up, the day when I finally decided to bite back.

That was the day the bitch went to the cupboard and it was bare.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Wed 16 Apr 2008, 10:43, 3 replies)

...
... hmm... my favourite style...

But why ChickenLady?
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Wed 16 Apr 2008, 10:59, closed)

Well I could have simply written about a fear of Dogging
but I prefer to see the tale from the hound's side rather than Old Mother Hubbard's.


That and the fact I'm bored.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Wed 16 Apr 2008, 11:04, closed)

I live in Sweden...
... which means it's only 3hrs and 40 minutes to the 4pm.

And it's Wednesday.
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Wed 16 Apr 2008, 11:20, closed)