Existence Womb (70)

   
   "Existence Womb (70)"
   
   Miriam didn't bother herself further.  Yup, pure anguish.  The gruel.  The shit.  The stink of toxic captivity.  
   She could hear Buck calling.  Howling, gently, in her mind's eye.  That singular eye of the burning candle.  That third eye specter upon the forehead.  Christ's eye.  And she wished she had a piece of tumbled Bloodstone.
   Nevertheless, Miriam didn't bother with the smudge of lost fudge--the fun stuff.  She was incarcerated.  Fed high doses of bullshit; plus, no contact, not even with other bat shit crazy people.
   She pondered:  "Did I give birth?  A fast gestation, hmm?  Do I even get my period anymore?"
   It was all macabre, yet tasted like a sense of humor.  The werewolf saving her from aliens.  The ancient-astronaut axiom of it all.  And she was glad.  Even in a straight-jacket, drinking chicken broth through a lime-green striped straw.