Becoming Abigail

Then XXVI

In the ensuing.

There was no panic. Just the angel unlocking her cuffs. And Peter bleeding. Reddening the snow on this dark and rebellious night. Peter dying.

“Go,” the angel said.

“Go,” Mary said.

Abigail ran out, half-naked, the severed penis clutched in her hand. Though the streets were crowded, only a few people noticed this gorgon with bloody mouth and hands, and the grisly prize she held up like a torch as she ran.

Time bled into the cracks on the pavement until a passing police car picked her up.