Tattersail

its slimy appendages slipped through her synapses, licking each thought of self-preservation away one at a time. at first she resisted, but in keeping with so many bad habits forged over a lifetime of giving in, the beast persisted. to call it rape would be like calling war 'red rover'. as her memories faded, one bubbled to the top, and just before bursting a photograph fluttered into the air, aided by the propulsion:
two lines were drawn in the sand. children in rollerskates. holding hands. a solid defense. just before the carnage. before the bloody nose.
the tentacles constricted and her breath escaped, like so many memories down a drain.