The maroon wallpaper was peeling near the corners, and in the eyes of everyone that surrounded me there was an odd blankness. The way they ghostly drifted across the room to each other, repeating the same meaningless conversations in the same dull, monotone voices deeply sickened me. My head began to swim as I felt the lifelessness begin to numb my attention, and I had to escape.
With the smoke slithering into my mouth as I inhaled the stale air, I stumbled for a way out, any door that could lead me away. My eyesight clouded as my mind began to dissipate in effort to dispel the wave of disgust that bubbled in my chest; by the time I stopped staggering, my mind was so far gone, I barely recognized where I had ended up.
The sudden echo of my motions slapping against the walls woke me, and the sour smell of sewage brought me into the realization that I had placed myself in the restroom. Taking advantage of where I was, I sauntered my way to the urinal, yellowed and cracked with age, and unzipped my jeans. I was hardly conscious of the cold draft blowing in from a nearby cracked window until I pulled out to relieve myself. Searching, I found the fogged window, with cobwebs resting in the corners and laced upon the glass, which was so dusty, I could not see the street beyond.
Suddenly, the back of my neck began to sting as I felt eyes staring directly upon me. Clenching my jaw tightly, I attempted to shake off the feeling of melancholic disarray. Closing my eyes for but a moment, my thoughts rewound through the last few months to a moment I shall always hold securely in my mind. Every detail, every whispered breath that she took, shall never be lost.
Just in the way my hand slid up her long, delicate back as I freed her from her dress had instilled such a feeling within me that the impression left could never fade. I lived in that memory. I am still there to this day, and all that had been of me since was simply a shell of a man who’s soul lived with someone else. I wished I could go back to this image, and live before time continued and brought me to this sinister place.
Finally opening my eyes, I rose my chin, oddly surprised to see my reflection gazing straight back, the image somehow too clear for the grimy mirror to have constructed, with the striking blue eyes settled right below my creased brow and my mouth twisted in a worried glower. I looked much more tired than I recalled feeling. I slowly sunk into my reflection, my memories pulling me from my body, and began to remember once more how she had traced her gentle finger down my broad nose and cupped my cheek in her adoring hand. Her touch still stirred along my skin. Memories, haunting memories bloomed like a black rose in the vast cavities of my chest. Deeply immersed in that trance, it required a strange exchange to tear me away. I suddenly felt vulnerable as I stood in that unkempt bathroom, and the abrupt voice that arose from behind me caused me to jump, while letting out a shout, as I grasped for the wall to keep me balanced. Yet, the hidden character continued speaking, which to my great surprise and gratitude meant that she had oddly not heard my pitiful yelp. The voice was raucous and ancient as the echo of it bounced off the hard, faded plastic of the stalls, creating an ominous quality to her speech.
“What’s this I see? A glimmer of love in those eyes? How dare you be so arrogant? You are nothing more than a spot of piss in the miles of pure snow. Empty yourself of this weakness, at once!” The strange cracking voice was from a woman, and it eerily reminded me of a witch’s screech from a fairy tale that I barely remembered from childhood. Much different than the first, the responding voice was like the fragile whimpering of a child, with a pained stuttering chocked between sobs.
“I… I’m sor…sorry. I didn’t…didn’t mean to. I ju…just wanted to feel… I wanted to feel real, for once.” The sloshing sound of liquid hitting liquid and the resonance of brash gagging told me that she had begun vomiting. I believe that her hand had rushed to the wall beside her, to keep her steady as her stomach lurched forward in vicious heaving motions, for a loud banging against the side of the stall followed her meager words.
“Oh, child, stupid, stupid child.” A coarse laugh sputtered from the older woman’s throat, and I imagined that dust fanned out from her cracked lips. “You must have learned by now. You are not worthy of being real. You are but a memory. But a single passing second in his life. Yes, you are an old tee-shirt that he decided to toss away after wearing for just one… last… time.”
A startling, rustling movement followed with a breathy gasp, and looking down, I see the younger woman’s foot slide out from beneath the stall door; the older woman apparently had pushed her closer to the toilet. “Do you see what comes from you? Do you see what you create? This is all you are. This bile that now drips from your pretty lips that’s painted red just for him. Do you smell your disgust in the chunks of your lunch, now lodged in your nose?”
“Ye…Yes. Please leave me be! I understand. I am noth…noth…nothing.”
“Say it like you believe it girl!”
“I am nothing.”
“I am impatient, child, SPEAK UP!”
“I AM NOTHING!” The forcefulness of her sob echoed painfully in my skull, ringing over and over again, poisoning my mind. Her words pinned me firmly against the soiled walls, with my arms spread to each side and my breathing heavy from the fear that triggered sweat to perspire upon my forehead and to stick to my neck. My eyes not being able to rest, they involuntarily twitched from side to side as the remainder of me stood anxiously frozen, not quite knowing what else to do. Her voice was more feeble as she continued, speaking through clinched teeth.
“I am nothing. And I have every right to thank you for helping me come to my senses.”
“As right you should! Miserable creature. You must never bite from the apple. It has done no woman any good. Now stand and compose yourself.”
The young woman’s foot scratched against the filth gathered upon the bathroom tile as she sniffed in her tears and stood up. Realizing my position much too late, I spun around facing the mirror, my face against the top of the urinal and my head hung down. I had every means to rush swiftly from the room, but my legs were shaking too rapidly and my mind was too dazed. I heard heels clicking, and the slow, screeching swing of the stall door opening, and I knew the women had emerged, and most likely had their glaring eyes set fiercely upon me.
No longer being able to hide, I turned slowly around, but to my surprise, I saw only one woman standing before me. I stuttered out a single syllable of confusion as I bluntly gaped back at her. She was pale with purple rings sagged under her hazed green eyes, and her dark raven hair was sloppily pulled up. Her lips, the only vibrant color on her figure, wore a shocking blood red hue that was smeared across her cheek as well as on the top of her hand, and her clothes sagged on her bony frame.
She wavered there like a puzzled phantom, but there she soundly stood, regarding me with stark uncertainty and a faintly growing anger with her head cocked somewhat to the side. Risking movement, I leaned slightly over to glance behind her, just to make sure that there really was no other person. I wasn’t mistaken, there wasn’t anyone else. She was alone the whole time. Scuffing my shoes against the floor, I uneasily scurried away, but right before I heard the door slap behind me, I saw her frail, rigid body unnaturally bent over one of the urinals as her meager voice mumbled to herself, “My, what strange sinks these are…”
Showing posts with label Short Story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Short Story. Show all posts
April 5, 2008
Strange Conversation
A Gothic Tale
There is no greater rejection than that of the human heart, and so Damian hid himself in the darkness of the most impersonal, dreary New York flat. Brooding, lumbering through the sickly rain, he made his retreat to the chapel in the depths of 26th street. The rain pattering on the ground reminded him of dancing in the rain as a child, of times when he was happy. Though these memories of past times only instilled another cringing fit of crippling sorrow inside his chest.
He walked through the rusted gates, swinging open with a sharply screaming screech. The walkway was hidden under chilling puddles, splashing under his black, clicking shoes. His eyes scanned around him and flashes of vividly colored memories sparked against his mind as if on an aged projection screen. A bird bath filled with clear water had invited him, as a child, to cup the cooling liquid in his smooth, innocent hands. Conversation had buzzed and flitted through the churchyard. He remembered his mother's laugh, so much like Rebecca's. Suddenly, his thoughts immediately switched over to images of her.
Oh, how her eyes gleamed when her face lit up as a chirping giggle sang out, pushed out from her beautiful breasts. She decorated her long chestnut locks with violet flowers; she always smelled of lavender and vanilla.
Lightning flashed, cracking through the sky, shocking Damian out of his fruitless dreams. The graveyard was no longer fluttered with blooming buds, but the yard was sunken with continuous rain, dark and foreboding. The forgotten headstones cracked as if in anger, born from all those vacant years in solitude.
How could such a joyful place grow into this melancholic church scene?
He could not imagine the ancient church had once held his loving parents' marriage. The crooked door creaked as he pushed through. Dust sputtered upon the air, chocking Damian, his coughs ricocheted of the heavily walls, the stones faded with time. Strangely enough he spied a candle lit in an empty corner, the light not spreading to the air, chocked by darkness too heavy for light to penetrate. Yet, the dim light provided enough clarity for Damian to observe a cross, swollen and twisted, deformed by each storm that had past resulting in the repetitive drops which fell from the caved in roof.
Not being able to tear his eyes from the gnarled cross, silence drained and pressed against his drumming ears. Time paused motionless and dead until wings fluttered between the rafters of the church. A wind whistled through the decaying walls, blowing out the burning candle. Heart pounding against his ribcage, he breathed heavily while spinning around, his soaked pea coat slapping his legs, and in the far corner near the entrance, he witnessed a flash of a figure skitting through the darkness.
"Hello? Anyone there?" his deep, rustic voice billowed in the empty church. Backing up, he placed his hand against one of the rotten pews. Leaning against it, a three inch long splinter stabbed into his palm. Screaming out in pain, Damian drew his hand to his face, attempting to see the damage. He could feel the warm blood oozing down his wrist in thick streams, and he could smell the sharp, metallic smell arising into the air from his wound.
Empty streets stretched between Damian and the large bell which rang, announcing midnight. Hearing this toll, he shook his head as if to dispel the eerie aura surrounding him. He had been hoping to rekindle, at least, some ounce of happiness or hope, but instead he only found the dead, rundown church of which he now stood inside, as if inside the stomach of a beast.
Finally, he breathed out in a gruff tone, "I need to get the hell out of here." Heading towards the door, a silky voice paused him in his step.
"I really would like to disagree." The soothed sound was a woman's voice. Turning around Damian saw that the candle was relit and standing in the light was a tall, thin woman with striking raven colored hair, cut short and tattered. Her dark hair complemented and brightened her clear, blue eyes. Her lips were naturally scarlet against her pale skin. He couldn't stop staring; she was stunningly more attractive than anyone he had ever come across before. His head became light as if it were floating above his shoulders, and his thoughts became jumbled
"Who are you?" he spat out in stutters and pauses.
"Who I am is of no importance Damian. The night has ended, and you haven't found what you destined out for." Her voice was melodic and poured into the air in a thick and sweet manner, reminding him of honey dripping through the space between them. As she spoke, her body strode towards him, her hips swaying side to side in a seductive manner. As she neared him, he could smell her intoxicating scent of sugar and sweat, and by the time she was close enough to see his own perspiring glands, he was drunk with her presence.
Immobile and entranced, he replied, "H…H…How do you, um, know, my…"
Placing her finger against his full lips, she whispered, "Shhhhh, quiet Damian. Relax. All will be well."
Her cold finger, once taken away, left his lips tingling, almost as if it was still there. He blinked and shook his head to attempt to clear his heavy mind, but each time she said his name, he seemed more in her control. As the seconds passed, he took in her delicate, angular face, and decided he'd let her do so. Perhaps she'd make him feel loved, even if temporarily, for tonight. That is what he truly desired. To find a renewed sense of this feeling.
"You are a handsome one. Dark hair falling to your smooth chin. So young. So fresh." Her fingers entwined in his hair, and then she lowered and placed her hand upon his chest. "So much pain though." As she spoke, her voice sympathetic, his heart melted and he felt strangely healed. "Your russet eyes have no need for sadness tonight." Her slight shoulders were revealed under her sleek black tank top, which was paired with jeans that hugged her legs and graced her hips. Even standing tall in her stance, she only reached his shoulders.
By then, Damian's eyes were drooping and the blood beneath his skin radiated heat, so warm that as her hands traced over his face, pulling back his hair, the iciness of her touch almost burned his skin; this sensation alone keeping him awake. Leaning forward in a kiss, she licked his neck from its base to his ear.
"Delicious. AB positive. Perfect. Damian my dear, you are going to make a most delightful meal." She breathed out as she opened her mouth, revealing two half-inch long fangs. As she pierced into his throat, his blood pooling into her mouth, his breath choked and gasped. His body slowly became limp as she held his withering shell in her arms. The spiced smell and the sweet taste of the smooth liquid sliding down her throat satisfied her so much, a shiver ran down her spine. The blood colored her cheeks as she drank it from the body of this handsome man, running it into her own veins. At the moment when Damian's life slipped through the wholes in his neck, the twisted cross fell off the mantle with and endless crash.
Standing up, she whipped the last drops from her lip, looking up to the sky she spoke with a content smirk "Finish him off." Pacing slowly, she then disappeared into the darkness, which enveloped her receding figure.
Within seconds a multitude of ravens and pitch black crows flew down and began pecking off his flesh in tiny pieces, poking at his dried eyes, eating his cold, lifeless corpse, and not one drop of blood splashed against the old, wooden floor. A shell of a man lie in the church, and if an onlooker witnessed the gruesome act, they would have found that there wasn't a single speck of blood left in that heartbroken corpse.
Damian found at least one thing before his end, his heart no longer felt the pain of his loss. Secretly, he had wanted something, anything to end it, and it just happened that what it took was for his heart to cease beating all together.
He walked through the rusted gates, swinging open with a sharply screaming screech. The walkway was hidden under chilling puddles, splashing under his black, clicking shoes. His eyes scanned around him and flashes of vividly colored memories sparked against his mind as if on an aged projection screen. A bird bath filled with clear water had invited him, as a child, to cup the cooling liquid in his smooth, innocent hands. Conversation had buzzed and flitted through the churchyard. He remembered his mother's laugh, so much like Rebecca's. Suddenly, his thoughts immediately switched over to images of her.
Oh, how her eyes gleamed when her face lit up as a chirping giggle sang out, pushed out from her beautiful breasts. She decorated her long chestnut locks with violet flowers; she always smelled of lavender and vanilla.
Lightning flashed, cracking through the sky, shocking Damian out of his fruitless dreams. The graveyard was no longer fluttered with blooming buds, but the yard was sunken with continuous rain, dark and foreboding. The forgotten headstones cracked as if in anger, born from all those vacant years in solitude.
How could such a joyful place grow into this melancholic church scene?
He could not imagine the ancient church had once held his loving parents' marriage. The crooked door creaked as he pushed through. Dust sputtered upon the air, chocking Damian, his coughs ricocheted of the heavily walls, the stones faded with time. Strangely enough he spied a candle lit in an empty corner, the light not spreading to the air, chocked by darkness too heavy for light to penetrate. Yet, the dim light provided enough clarity for Damian to observe a cross, swollen and twisted, deformed by each storm that had past resulting in the repetitive drops which fell from the caved in roof.
Not being able to tear his eyes from the gnarled cross, silence drained and pressed against his drumming ears. Time paused motionless and dead until wings fluttered between the rafters of the church. A wind whistled through the decaying walls, blowing out the burning candle. Heart pounding against his ribcage, he breathed heavily while spinning around, his soaked pea coat slapping his legs, and in the far corner near the entrance, he witnessed a flash of a figure skitting through the darkness.
"Hello? Anyone there?" his deep, rustic voice billowed in the empty church. Backing up, he placed his hand against one of the rotten pews. Leaning against it, a three inch long splinter stabbed into his palm. Screaming out in pain, Damian drew his hand to his face, attempting to see the damage. He could feel the warm blood oozing down his wrist in thick streams, and he could smell the sharp, metallic smell arising into the air from his wound.
Empty streets stretched between Damian and the large bell which rang, announcing midnight. Hearing this toll, he shook his head as if to dispel the eerie aura surrounding him. He had been hoping to rekindle, at least, some ounce of happiness or hope, but instead he only found the dead, rundown church of which he now stood inside, as if inside the stomach of a beast.
Finally, he breathed out in a gruff tone, "I need to get the hell out of here." Heading towards the door, a silky voice paused him in his step.
"I really would like to disagree." The soothed sound was a woman's voice. Turning around Damian saw that the candle was relit and standing in the light was a tall, thin woman with striking raven colored hair, cut short and tattered. Her dark hair complemented and brightened her clear, blue eyes. Her lips were naturally scarlet against her pale skin. He couldn't stop staring; she was stunningly more attractive than anyone he had ever come across before. His head became light as if it were floating above his shoulders, and his thoughts became jumbled
"Who are you?" he spat out in stutters and pauses.
"Who I am is of no importance Damian. The night has ended, and you haven't found what you destined out for." Her voice was melodic and poured into the air in a thick and sweet manner, reminding him of honey dripping through the space between them. As she spoke, her body strode towards him, her hips swaying side to side in a seductive manner. As she neared him, he could smell her intoxicating scent of sugar and sweat, and by the time she was close enough to see his own perspiring glands, he was drunk with her presence.
Immobile and entranced, he replied, "H…H…How do you, um, know, my…"
Placing her finger against his full lips, she whispered, "Shhhhh, quiet Damian. Relax. All will be well."
Her cold finger, once taken away, left his lips tingling, almost as if it was still there. He blinked and shook his head to attempt to clear his heavy mind, but each time she said his name, he seemed more in her control. As the seconds passed, he took in her delicate, angular face, and decided he'd let her do so. Perhaps she'd make him feel loved, even if temporarily, for tonight. That is what he truly desired. To find a renewed sense of this feeling.
"You are a handsome one. Dark hair falling to your smooth chin. So young. So fresh." Her fingers entwined in his hair, and then she lowered and placed her hand upon his chest. "So much pain though." As she spoke, her voice sympathetic, his heart melted and he felt strangely healed. "Your russet eyes have no need for sadness tonight." Her slight shoulders were revealed under her sleek black tank top, which was paired with jeans that hugged her legs and graced her hips. Even standing tall in her stance, she only reached his shoulders.
By then, Damian's eyes were drooping and the blood beneath his skin radiated heat, so warm that as her hands traced over his face, pulling back his hair, the iciness of her touch almost burned his skin; this sensation alone keeping him awake. Leaning forward in a kiss, she licked his neck from its base to his ear.
"Delicious. AB positive. Perfect. Damian my dear, you are going to make a most delightful meal." She breathed out as she opened her mouth, revealing two half-inch long fangs. As she pierced into his throat, his blood pooling into her mouth, his breath choked and gasped. His body slowly became limp as she held his withering shell in her arms. The spiced smell and the sweet taste of the smooth liquid sliding down her throat satisfied her so much, a shiver ran down her spine. The blood colored her cheeks as she drank it from the body of this handsome man, running it into her own veins. At the moment when Damian's life slipped through the wholes in his neck, the twisted cross fell off the mantle with and endless crash.
Standing up, she whipped the last drops from her lip, looking up to the sky she spoke with a content smirk "Finish him off." Pacing slowly, she then disappeared into the darkness, which enveloped her receding figure.
Within seconds a multitude of ravens and pitch black crows flew down and began pecking off his flesh in tiny pieces, poking at his dried eyes, eating his cold, lifeless corpse, and not one drop of blood splashed against the old, wooden floor. A shell of a man lie in the church, and if an onlooker witnessed the gruesome act, they would have found that there wasn't a single speck of blood left in that heartbroken corpse.
Damian found at least one thing before his end, his heart no longer felt the pain of his loss. Secretly, he had wanted something, anything to end it, and it just happened that what it took was for his heart to cease beating all together.
Arachnophobia At It's Best
Monsters, You Stay Away! I Can Smell Your Decay!
Blackness devours my eyes; my hand is a stranger in front of my own face. A sour, putrid smell forces its way into my nose, causing my wide, searching eyes to itch and water. I cough in attempt to rid the decaying smell from my system, trying to clear from my thoughts the scent that lingers in some forgotten corner of this room . My arm reaches out into the abyss, and I can almost feel the darkness eat at my skin. I take several steps forward, searching for a switch that will reveal this mysterious room, my feet scuffling along the rough pavement below. The staleness of the air informs me there are no windows or apertures present inside this prison like area.
Finally, the cold concrete wall finds my reaching fingertips. Sliding my hand along the rough surface, I find the switch. A chill runs along my arm, as if I had just been shocked from the electricity that buzzes behind these thick walls. Suddenly, a feeling of something scurrying up my arm tingles along my skin. I flick on the switch, and observe a large arachnid crouched on my forearm. About the size of a softball, its long, sharp, black fangs drip with a tawny liquid. Its blank eyes, numbered about fifty, stare directly into my own two, frightened eyes. The hair prickling out of the leather-like skin raises and pokes into my arm, leaving hundreds of small red spots.
The hot blood bubbling from the wounds wake me up from my panic. A quick rustling flips inside my abdomen, rising like lightning up past my chest, lodging itself in my throat. Finally, my scream erupts into the dead silence like a firecracker in the night. Rapidly, the spider switched positions and sank its needle like fangs into me. Numbness shocked through my arm, and a gangrene color spider-webbed along my skin, racing away from the puncture wound, like rapidly growing green vines. Vomit choked my scream. Turning around, it placed it's backside inside one of the holes created from the bite and released tiny white spheres, which were lurid in sight.
Shortly after, the spider sprung from my arm and attached to the wall. Looking back down at my arm, I saw the wound begin to swell like a growing volcano, and soon my skin, pink and swollen, erupted as tiny spiders scampered and crawled up my arm. I gazed around me in a daze, and I noticed for the first time the multitude of rotting human carcasses that were strewn around me; their mouths opened in a continuous, silent scream, and the eye sockets carved empty and dark. Hundreds of giant spiders weaved themselves through the rib cages of the bodies, now turned into habitats for these monsters. Gray skin hung from the yellowed bones.
The sudden feeling of an extreme itch pulls my terrified eyes back towards my arms. Half of my skin had already been devoured by these tiny fiends. My head began to spin. My eyesight clouded by fear as well as the poison as I realized my end.
Blackness devours my eyes; my hand is a stranger in front of my own face. A sour, putrid smell forces its way into my nose, causing my wide, searching eyes to itch and water. I cough in attempt to rid the decaying smell from my system, trying to clear from my thoughts the scent that lingers in some forgotten corner of this room . My arm reaches out into the abyss, and I can almost feel the darkness eat at my skin. I take several steps forward, searching for a switch that will reveal this mysterious room, my feet scuffling along the rough pavement below. The staleness of the air informs me there are no windows or apertures present inside this prison like area.
Finally, the cold concrete wall finds my reaching fingertips. Sliding my hand along the rough surface, I find the switch. A chill runs along my arm, as if I had just been shocked from the electricity that buzzes behind these thick walls. Suddenly, a feeling of something scurrying up my arm tingles along my skin. I flick on the switch, and observe a large arachnid crouched on my forearm. About the size of a softball, its long, sharp, black fangs drip with a tawny liquid. Its blank eyes, numbered about fifty, stare directly into my own two, frightened eyes. The hair prickling out of the leather-like skin raises and pokes into my arm, leaving hundreds of small red spots.
The hot blood bubbling from the wounds wake me up from my panic. A quick rustling flips inside my abdomen, rising like lightning up past my chest, lodging itself in my throat. Finally, my scream erupts into the dead silence like a firecracker in the night. Rapidly, the spider switched positions and sank its needle like fangs into me. Numbness shocked through my arm, and a gangrene color spider-webbed along my skin, racing away from the puncture wound, like rapidly growing green vines. Vomit choked my scream. Turning around, it placed it's backside inside one of the holes created from the bite and released tiny white spheres, which were lurid in sight.
Shortly after, the spider sprung from my arm and attached to the wall. Looking back down at my arm, I saw the wound begin to swell like a growing volcano, and soon my skin, pink and swollen, erupted as tiny spiders scampered and crawled up my arm. I gazed around me in a daze, and I noticed for the first time the multitude of rotting human carcasses that were strewn around me; their mouths opened in a continuous, silent scream, and the eye sockets carved empty and dark. Hundreds of giant spiders weaved themselves through the rib cages of the bodies, now turned into habitats for these monsters. Gray skin hung from the yellowed bones.
The sudden feeling of an extreme itch pulls my terrified eyes back towards my arms. Half of my skin had already been devoured by these tiny fiends. My head began to spin. My eyesight clouded by fear as well as the poison as I realized my end.
Carcass Dreams
I died three days ago.
I think. It could be months.
But things seem so different now.
Everything's so unconnected with time.
I have fallen out of its interest, you see.
It only cares to erase me from its sight,
Decaying me and molding me
Into the earth that surrounds me.
It turns its back, not wanting to
Witness what exactly it has done to me.
I still lie here in this puddle of caked blood. The leaves of the forest painted on my sallow skin. In the sunlight I look as if I were made by shimmering pearl, a strange kind of beautiful. I would be slightly more content with death if I didn't feel this itching in my stomach, the scratching in my head, the crawling in my chest. The insects of the world have started eating me hollow, and I can feel each movement and twitch inside of my still corpse.
I can't even blink when the sun is at its peak, staring straight down into my blank, dulled eyes.
The animals of the woods come by, attracted to the smell of my rotting carcass, and I do not understand their attraction to the putrid smell. I lay here all day and night wishing I had lost my sense of smell upon the arrival of my demise, but for some terrible reason, I lay here equipped with all senses. Nonetheless, the creatures come: nibbling and ripping the flesh and meat from my bones. I can hear the animals chewing raucously on my intestines, the juices slurping around in their mouth. I can feel each tear, but I cannot cringe or scream at them, and lying here paralyzed and unable to rest, my awake mind spins in insanity.
This feeling of being stuck is like no one could understand; it is like the worst of a claustrophobic's nightmare. I am immobile, unable to help myself, unable to cease the pain rupturing through my entire body. Sometimes I can even feel the flesh slop away from my tawny bones, decaying ever so slowly. I cannot cough when a beetle becomes lodged in my throat, squirming around to continue down my pipe and into my lungs, my flattened, useless, torn tissue that used to be my lungs.
Slowly I sink down, sink more into the ground. It pulls at me, and calmly beckons me to fall into it, and though the sound is reassuring, I do not listen. As I lie here in this agony, I wish only one thing. I desire my body to be found. They must find him who damned me; they must find me and put me to rest. I would hate for my loved one's to constantly be immersed in wondering what happened. I don't want anyone to ever feel as stuck as I have felt for weeks now. But, I don't have much time.Days pass, weeks pass, and my body is almost finished becoming the dirt, almost finished sinking into the earth.
If I don't succumb to the life around me, if I don't blend into the grass, the trees, and the moss, I'll be released from my body only to find myself in a whole other hell. I'll become a soul condemned to roam without a body to call its own, and I thought this was unbearable. Just this thought sends my mind to sweep in a fine frenzy.
Still, I lie here in this puddle of blood stains, staring straight up into the sky, seeing through eyes that have been eaten away, the insects nesting in the cavities that remain. I see the moon rising. And the sun setting. And I wait. I wonder how long it will take for someone to find me resting here and waiting.
I think. It could be months.
But things seem so different now.
Everything's so unconnected with time.
I have fallen out of its interest, you see.
It only cares to erase me from its sight,
Decaying me and molding me
Into the earth that surrounds me.
It turns its back, not wanting to
Witness what exactly it has done to me.
I still lie here in this puddle of caked blood. The leaves of the forest painted on my sallow skin. In the sunlight I look as if I were made by shimmering pearl, a strange kind of beautiful. I would be slightly more content with death if I didn't feel this itching in my stomach, the scratching in my head, the crawling in my chest. The insects of the world have started eating me hollow, and I can feel each movement and twitch inside of my still corpse.
I can't even blink when the sun is at its peak, staring straight down into my blank, dulled eyes.
The animals of the woods come by, attracted to the smell of my rotting carcass, and I do not understand their attraction to the putrid smell. I lay here all day and night wishing I had lost my sense of smell upon the arrival of my demise, but for some terrible reason, I lay here equipped with all senses. Nonetheless, the creatures come: nibbling and ripping the flesh and meat from my bones. I can hear the animals chewing raucously on my intestines, the juices slurping around in their mouth. I can feel each tear, but I cannot cringe or scream at them, and lying here paralyzed and unable to rest, my awake mind spins in insanity.
This feeling of being stuck is like no one could understand; it is like the worst of a claustrophobic's nightmare. I am immobile, unable to help myself, unable to cease the pain rupturing through my entire body. Sometimes I can even feel the flesh slop away from my tawny bones, decaying ever so slowly. I cannot cough when a beetle becomes lodged in my throat, squirming around to continue down my pipe and into my lungs, my flattened, useless, torn tissue that used to be my lungs.
Slowly I sink down, sink more into the ground. It pulls at me, and calmly beckons me to fall into it, and though the sound is reassuring, I do not listen. As I lie here in this agony, I wish only one thing. I desire my body to be found. They must find him who damned me; they must find me and put me to rest. I would hate for my loved one's to constantly be immersed in wondering what happened. I don't want anyone to ever feel as stuck as I have felt for weeks now. But, I don't have much time.Days pass, weeks pass, and my body is almost finished becoming the dirt, almost finished sinking into the earth.
If I don't succumb to the life around me, if I don't blend into the grass, the trees, and the moss, I'll be released from my body only to find myself in a whole other hell. I'll become a soul condemned to roam without a body to call its own, and I thought this was unbearable. Just this thought sends my mind to sweep in a fine frenzy.
Still, I lie here in this puddle of blood stains, staring straight up into the sky, seeing through eyes that have been eaten away, the insects nesting in the cavities that remain. I see the moon rising. And the sun setting. And I wait. I wonder how long it will take for someone to find me resting here and waiting.
Drinking Games
My hands shake as they pass the drink to my lips: a clear indication that my body cannot handle much more. A slow smile smears on my face as each drink sends me farther away from the truth. I sit on a spinning couch and the sounds around me present themselves in slow motion. Once the clear liquid slides past my lips, the strong smell, much like that of nail polish, causes my stomach to lunge forward as the air gathers and gags within my chest.
The bright lights and the swaying people around the room become hidden as my dark hair falls in front of my pained face. Leaning over, with deep gargling sounds choking in my throat, I expect more to begin pouring from me. I can feel the energy seeping out with each pulsing heave, and, finally I feel my head lop to the side, my lips hanging loose, with nothing left in me. As my hands reach my face to pull back the hair, I see the bleached part of it glowing in the light and become fascinated, for but a moment, in the silken look of it flowing between my fingers. I tie my hair in a sloppy bun, and look around with wide eyes.
Everything then suddenly explodes into hyper speed, with the people jerking around in an odd teenage dance while strange colors float around them. The lights are overbearing as if I were tied down in an operating room staring straight into the beam. Right as this thought slugs into my head, two nurses, smiling deviously, glide in front of the agonizing light. Glancing up with only my eyes, my head still lolling downward as if my chin were too heavy to lift, I see their glowing faces. They speak in soft lullabies, but the words don’t reach my ears.
Their cooing and soft noises remind me of morning birds, and I smile as I feel my left eye involuntarily shut. Looking toward each other, they giggle, even though I don’t remember saying anything funny at all. One of them grabs me with her silk hands and cups my own in hers. She then places a little blue pill in them. I look at it curiously; I don’t recall being sick. I notice how it cradles within the folds of my skin, and I think of it as a robin’s egg and my hands as the nest. In a thick, slow voice, I mutter a sloppy sound, “awwww”.
A reassuring noise flows from one of the girls as she moves my hand to my mouth and places a cold glass to my lips. My face cringes in horrible surprise as the tasteless liquid hits my tongue and for the first time all night, I realize how dry my mouth has actually been. The pill pushes against the inside of my throat as the water carries it down into me. My finger sluggishly traces along my chest, pointing out the passage of the little blue tablet. The couch sinks and for a second I think that I have transformed into the blue pill and the couch is trying to swallow me, but as I glance over my right shoulder, I realize that the girls had just sat next to me. I also recognize that these two that I had thought to be nurses, are not nurses at all.
In fact, I remember they came with Eric and had rode in my car with him. They were loud and obnoxious. I remember. From my left a seductive grace travels down my side pulling me from my head, and I twitch in ticklish delight. Swinging my head towards the feeling, I see that she is very close. Her words finally form within my head, as she whispers, “we want you tonight.”
In my delayed voice, I simply answer in slurred words, “What do you want me to do? I can’t move.” When she laughs, I try running my hands to my ears in attempt to protect them from the screeching sound, but my arms are too heavy to move quick enough.
She continues with a voice that a secret has changed, “Wait just a minute, and you won’t be able to stop moving.” My middle finger on my right hand suddenly feels very wet and tingly, looking over I see the other girl has her lips securely fastened around it as she makes humming noises in her throat. Right as I notice the pleasure in this act, a hand grasps tightly around the inside of my thigh. My brain begins pounding against my skull in effort to escape the thousand thoughts that suddenly flood inside my head, and an immense feeling of joy gradually overcomes me as the two persist with their antics.
Both girls standing at the same time, they break from tasting me and reach for my wrists. They weave me in and out of the crowd with the people all swaying back and forth. Suddenly, I imagine them hanging peacefully from thick ropes that dangle from the ceiling, but like a dog shakes water from its back, I wobble my head in attempt to rid myself of this thought. We finally end up tumbling into a dark room.
The quickness of the following actions frighten me. One of the girls pins me straight against the wall and presses her lips roughly against mine. From her mouth, a slick, slug-like thing slips between my own lips and begins to dance. Coughing, I push her away, as best as I could, but as I did this, the other pulls down my jeans and then continues to envelope her mouth around my manhood. Looking down dumbly, I childishly mumble, “When did that happen?” As she continues, an aching begins in my gut as my muscles around my abdomen delightfully tighten, which causes an insuppressible burning desire. I pull the other close to me and stick my slug into her mouth as she had done to mine. A few minutes pass and the aching in my stomach turns to an aching in my chest. Everything moves faster than my thought process can handle.
A flash of earlier events pierce into my mind, and I can hear them laughing in my head. I recall the annoyance they had caused me. I remember looking back from the driver’s seat and saying something with just enough sarcasm to make them give one last laugh but with just enough truth to make them quiet. Opening my eyes, I find that I am on the bed with one of the girls moving above me as if she’s rowing a boat and I am the boat, and the other biting seductively on her neck. My distorted mind then abruptly alters them into a strange painting of a woman eating a fish, even as it rows the boat for her; this triggers a booming chortle to burst from my lungs. Time passes some more before my head finally begins to clear, and I recollect the little pill, and a morbid realization suddenly swathes me. They aren’t nurses. I’m not sick. And, here I am fully inside of one them. Why? I sputter out my understanding in one harsh word, “Ecstasy!”
“Yes, yes. Pure ecstasy.” The two girls mutter in unison.
My body begins to shake as I start to feel warm. Too warm. I’m scorching as the sweat gathers around my lips. I can taste the salt lingering on them. The tension builds inside of me as I feel like screaming, but disbelief is holding down the sound in my chest. The cry builds and strengthens and takes a different path. It flows into my arms and with a heavy heave, I lunge the witches from me. As they hit the floor in a heap, they both squeal, and a look of fright and disappointment distorts their faces. The enragement carving out of me slightly scares me, and I struggle to allow my breathing cool the fire flaming in my chest. Though, my thoughts cannot be held back in the small confinement of my skull, so I attempt to verbalize them as I spit out breathlessly, “You bitches gave me ecstasy! You… you…. I… fuck… What? I mean… How? I…” Filthy. Used. Pissed. And Helpless.
Feeling too much at once, my body overfills with emotion, and hot tears pour onto my face. The worst part, I realize, is that there is really nothing I can do about this situation. In a muffled sob I finish off with a, “Fuck you.” Pulling on my jeans too quickly, my foot gets caught in the gaping hole in the knee, and I clobber pathetically to the floor. The two girls come to me, and, with their false sympathetic voices, they apologize. My mind is still spinning, and their words become a single constant sound of a dying cat.
They move over me like cobras being charmed from a vase. They smell of liquor and smoke. Their hands reaching for me like tentacles. The anger and disgust starts to build again, but in a much more physical manner. I rush from that feeling as I rush from the room, and I find myself hitting against walls before finally pounding into the front lawn.
The stabbing winter cold cuts into me as I cut into the ground. With my fingertips scratching at the malleable soil beneath me, I let out a grumbling scream. I feel much like a scrap of paper being jostled down the highway by speeding cars. Minutes pass and my chin falls to my chest as energy defies me, and with my head hanging down, I notice how hard I still am and how I still ache for them to move above me. It is this desire, this wanting, that sets me off. I frantically claw at my stomach to release my foe, but when the enemy resides inside, there is no reaching it. The saying, “keep your enemies close” has never been so relevant.
The frustration and aggravation begin to assemble in me once more as I unwillingly tremble from the inside out. Holding myself, I glance around. No one is with me. No one has followed me out to see if I’m alright. No one cares as they all drink and snicker away, safe from the freezing wind that even my numbed body can feel. My hair rests around my bony shoulders, and my skin, reptile-ish from the cold, provides me no warmth.
The great sense of loneliness stabs me viciously from all sides. Finally a hot, thick liquid erupts from my stomach, and like a volcano, I spew the vomit onto the grass. As the smoldering liquid sputters from my mouth and out my nose, the smell and burn of it gags me some more. Grasping the grass between my fingers in attempt to keep me balanced, the green blades slice into my skin. I shudder as the air sucks back in my lungs causing me to collapse. My face smearing in my own puke, I curl into a fetal position and wait to wake up.
The thoughts of childhood sound like the chiming of an ice cream truck in my thoughts. I reminisce a time when all I needed was to be free. As the world slowly blackens around me, my one last thought is the reason why I began drinking in the first place, and before I give in to unconsciousness, I fancy that I feel a warm face nuzzling in the base of my neck, breathing quietly in a soft sleeping rhythm. The sense that this imagined girl feels safe in my arms causes a severe contentment to overtake me as I fall into this dream and forget why I’ve been drinking all along.
The bright lights and the swaying people around the room become hidden as my dark hair falls in front of my pained face. Leaning over, with deep gargling sounds choking in my throat, I expect more to begin pouring from me. I can feel the energy seeping out with each pulsing heave, and, finally I feel my head lop to the side, my lips hanging loose, with nothing left in me. As my hands reach my face to pull back the hair, I see the bleached part of it glowing in the light and become fascinated, for but a moment, in the silken look of it flowing between my fingers. I tie my hair in a sloppy bun, and look around with wide eyes.
Everything then suddenly explodes into hyper speed, with the people jerking around in an odd teenage dance while strange colors float around them. The lights are overbearing as if I were tied down in an operating room staring straight into the beam. Right as this thought slugs into my head, two nurses, smiling deviously, glide in front of the agonizing light. Glancing up with only my eyes, my head still lolling downward as if my chin were too heavy to lift, I see their glowing faces. They speak in soft lullabies, but the words don’t reach my ears.
Their cooing and soft noises remind me of morning birds, and I smile as I feel my left eye involuntarily shut. Looking toward each other, they giggle, even though I don’t remember saying anything funny at all. One of them grabs me with her silk hands and cups my own in hers. She then places a little blue pill in them. I look at it curiously; I don’t recall being sick. I notice how it cradles within the folds of my skin, and I think of it as a robin’s egg and my hands as the nest. In a thick, slow voice, I mutter a sloppy sound, “awwww”.
A reassuring noise flows from one of the girls as she moves my hand to my mouth and places a cold glass to my lips. My face cringes in horrible surprise as the tasteless liquid hits my tongue and for the first time all night, I realize how dry my mouth has actually been. The pill pushes against the inside of my throat as the water carries it down into me. My finger sluggishly traces along my chest, pointing out the passage of the little blue tablet. The couch sinks and for a second I think that I have transformed into the blue pill and the couch is trying to swallow me, but as I glance over my right shoulder, I realize that the girls had just sat next to me. I also recognize that these two that I had thought to be nurses, are not nurses at all.
In fact, I remember they came with Eric and had rode in my car with him. They were loud and obnoxious. I remember. From my left a seductive grace travels down my side pulling me from my head, and I twitch in ticklish delight. Swinging my head towards the feeling, I see that she is very close. Her words finally form within my head, as she whispers, “we want you tonight.”
In my delayed voice, I simply answer in slurred words, “What do you want me to do? I can’t move.” When she laughs, I try running my hands to my ears in attempt to protect them from the screeching sound, but my arms are too heavy to move quick enough.
She continues with a voice that a secret has changed, “Wait just a minute, and you won’t be able to stop moving.” My middle finger on my right hand suddenly feels very wet and tingly, looking over I see the other girl has her lips securely fastened around it as she makes humming noises in her throat. Right as I notice the pleasure in this act, a hand grasps tightly around the inside of my thigh. My brain begins pounding against my skull in effort to escape the thousand thoughts that suddenly flood inside my head, and an immense feeling of joy gradually overcomes me as the two persist with their antics.
Both girls standing at the same time, they break from tasting me and reach for my wrists. They weave me in and out of the crowd with the people all swaying back and forth. Suddenly, I imagine them hanging peacefully from thick ropes that dangle from the ceiling, but like a dog shakes water from its back, I wobble my head in attempt to rid myself of this thought. We finally end up tumbling into a dark room.
The quickness of the following actions frighten me. One of the girls pins me straight against the wall and presses her lips roughly against mine. From her mouth, a slick, slug-like thing slips between my own lips and begins to dance. Coughing, I push her away, as best as I could, but as I did this, the other pulls down my jeans and then continues to envelope her mouth around my manhood. Looking down dumbly, I childishly mumble, “When did that happen?” As she continues, an aching begins in my gut as my muscles around my abdomen delightfully tighten, which causes an insuppressible burning desire. I pull the other close to me and stick my slug into her mouth as she had done to mine. A few minutes pass and the aching in my stomach turns to an aching in my chest. Everything moves faster than my thought process can handle.
A flash of earlier events pierce into my mind, and I can hear them laughing in my head. I recall the annoyance they had caused me. I remember looking back from the driver’s seat and saying something with just enough sarcasm to make them give one last laugh but with just enough truth to make them quiet. Opening my eyes, I find that I am on the bed with one of the girls moving above me as if she’s rowing a boat and I am the boat, and the other biting seductively on her neck. My distorted mind then abruptly alters them into a strange painting of a woman eating a fish, even as it rows the boat for her; this triggers a booming chortle to burst from my lungs. Time passes some more before my head finally begins to clear, and I recollect the little pill, and a morbid realization suddenly swathes me. They aren’t nurses. I’m not sick. And, here I am fully inside of one them. Why? I sputter out my understanding in one harsh word, “Ecstasy!”
“Yes, yes. Pure ecstasy.” The two girls mutter in unison.
My body begins to shake as I start to feel warm. Too warm. I’m scorching as the sweat gathers around my lips. I can taste the salt lingering on them. The tension builds inside of me as I feel like screaming, but disbelief is holding down the sound in my chest. The cry builds and strengthens and takes a different path. It flows into my arms and with a heavy heave, I lunge the witches from me. As they hit the floor in a heap, they both squeal, and a look of fright and disappointment distorts their faces. The enragement carving out of me slightly scares me, and I struggle to allow my breathing cool the fire flaming in my chest. Though, my thoughts cannot be held back in the small confinement of my skull, so I attempt to verbalize them as I spit out breathlessly, “You bitches gave me ecstasy! You… you…. I… fuck… What? I mean… How? I…” Filthy. Used. Pissed. And Helpless.
Feeling too much at once, my body overfills with emotion, and hot tears pour onto my face. The worst part, I realize, is that there is really nothing I can do about this situation. In a muffled sob I finish off with a, “Fuck you.” Pulling on my jeans too quickly, my foot gets caught in the gaping hole in the knee, and I clobber pathetically to the floor. The two girls come to me, and, with their false sympathetic voices, they apologize. My mind is still spinning, and their words become a single constant sound of a dying cat.
They move over me like cobras being charmed from a vase. They smell of liquor and smoke. Their hands reaching for me like tentacles. The anger and disgust starts to build again, but in a much more physical manner. I rush from that feeling as I rush from the room, and I find myself hitting against walls before finally pounding into the front lawn.
The stabbing winter cold cuts into me as I cut into the ground. With my fingertips scratching at the malleable soil beneath me, I let out a grumbling scream. I feel much like a scrap of paper being jostled down the highway by speeding cars. Minutes pass and my chin falls to my chest as energy defies me, and with my head hanging down, I notice how hard I still am and how I still ache for them to move above me. It is this desire, this wanting, that sets me off. I frantically claw at my stomach to release my foe, but when the enemy resides inside, there is no reaching it. The saying, “keep your enemies close” has never been so relevant.
The frustration and aggravation begin to assemble in me once more as I unwillingly tremble from the inside out. Holding myself, I glance around. No one is with me. No one has followed me out to see if I’m alright. No one cares as they all drink and snicker away, safe from the freezing wind that even my numbed body can feel. My hair rests around my bony shoulders, and my skin, reptile-ish from the cold, provides me no warmth.
The great sense of loneliness stabs me viciously from all sides. Finally a hot, thick liquid erupts from my stomach, and like a volcano, I spew the vomit onto the grass. As the smoldering liquid sputters from my mouth and out my nose, the smell and burn of it gags me some more. Grasping the grass between my fingers in attempt to keep me balanced, the green blades slice into my skin. I shudder as the air sucks back in my lungs causing me to collapse. My face smearing in my own puke, I curl into a fetal position and wait to wake up.
The thoughts of childhood sound like the chiming of an ice cream truck in my thoughts. I reminisce a time when all I needed was to be free. As the world slowly blackens around me, my one last thought is the reason why I began drinking in the first place, and before I give in to unconsciousness, I fancy that I feel a warm face nuzzling in the base of my neck, breathing quietly in a soft sleeping rhythm. The sense that this imagined girl feels safe in my arms causes a severe contentment to overtake me as I fall into this dream and forget why I’ve been drinking all along.
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