Horror Story #9

The faults along my sleek facade shiver with the shudder
As my plates’ shift for a smile for a passer by.
I marvel at the Dhalias that dance while I maraud.
Windows whisper cautiously to tread as I do, so softly.

  
This distempered denizen that I fear I’m embroiled,
Begets the face of heaven in the eyes of my ungod.
Still they lay, drawing in their breath as yet unsavored.
Basking in their gentle peace, I sit with them awhile.

It’s the mother, always she, that stirs at my disenergy,
Feigns her sleep betraying her with scattered inhalation.
Careful not to call attention to the chaos now ensued,
I rise to the attention of the call, and it’s begun.

One step, two step, she relies on some thing stronger.
Father’s fevered sleep hangs on, he rises just to fall before her.
No splatter with the crack but rather crumbles down with blunted clamor.
The game is past the first half and the vile rages onward.

Moments gallop rapidy, two children still sleep softly
Till the rash cacophony of his devoted lover, becomes alone.
Father do you still sleep softly with this needle in my arm.
Mother, hard I’ve hunted for a fluid family, one by one.

  
the children arent young.
nor was I,
back when what was done was done
and I begged to die.

The fall of man is endless
Each step another mile.
Once we fully catch ourself,
We’re totally in rabid binding.

Two boys, one golden tricycle stranded on the lawn.
A teeter-totter in the rear, an empty bowl and languid dog.
All the fair accoutrements
Furtile fears to prey upon.

Mace them and place them in industrial trash bags.
Wriggling and ravenous for some foreign compassion.
Mother bound and gagged to watch the party in the plastic.
By the time the father stirs,
I’ve aquired my fantastic.

my gift is hope.
boys claw out of their bags.
free their mother.
father rouses to the madness.

The sovereign and malicious monster broiling inside,
Begs to carry on beyond me.
And feed it like a vice, and kick it just before the eyes.
And this time drown the demon in the pool they built outside.

the end

Simon says

“So… Shit.

        

   What was I saying?”

“Simon?” Miranda asked

“Yeah. Sorry. I lost my train of thought.” I cross my legs and unfold my arms. I don’t want to seem closed off. 

Her hair is less red in this light, but I’ve seen it brighter. Her eyes are ever as green as i’v seen them as she scanned me, watching my expressions. She was looking for something, watching for a glimpse of, I’m not sure, uncharacteristic behavior.

“I’m not sure. Were you talking about the bomb?”

“What bomb?” I replied. She knows I know. What does she know. Who is Miranda? Why is she here? Like a phantom, a goddess phantasm.

I don’t mean to seem cruel. Terrified. Cool. Collected.

“I honestly couldn’t say. You’ve mentioned it several times.” She said.

“Can we talk about something else?”

“I’m just here talking to you. What you want to talk about is 100% up to you.”

“Oh.” I fell silent.

“You don’t talk about Penny.”

“No. I don’t remember much.” Deflecting, probably.

“You were married?” She continued.

“No. We thought about it. She and I both agreed marriage is an antiquated institution and we didn’t want to do that to our relationship.”

“So, you were together for a while though.”

“We knew each other for a couple years, and while I was in the… While I was enlisted. That was actually when we talked about it. Marriage, I mean.”

“What was it like?” She asked

“What? Being not married to Penny? Well, shit. It was a kind of a dream. She wasnt one for subtlety. I guess I liked that about her. Like I said, a lot of that year, the year after I got back, after my dark year. Let’s not get into that. But anyway, we were this immense force of nature. Fuck that. We were the result of two immense forces of nature that just sort of collided, and our love was… Perhaps not up to the challenge.”

“Do you believe that?”

I wanted to ask, ‘which part?’

“I need to.” I said

“Because if she didn’t love you…”

“She did what she did because of herself. What she felt was her own issue, and there’s nothing I could do about it.”

She watched me for a second. Assessed me.

“Do you think those two conclusions are contra indicative?” That was her question. Mine too.

I though about the idea that she still loved me, and that immediate ache bled in to the fibers of my comfortable belief. I felt the tethers of my hold on the moment growing taut.

“I know she loved me. She couldn’t love anything in the world but me. She hated herself. She thought she was a shell. She thought she was born into the world without passion. Without revolution. She used to tell me the most spectacular thoughts that ran through her head furiously like stampedes. She drew. Not very well, but when she walked you through it, I know that you’re been there. She had this way of capturing moments and telling them.”

Big pause. Breathe. Don’t think. No one judges.

“She was. Penny was never happy. Sometimes, she was so down she was like a singularity. And when we had our son, she left. Emotionally, she just left. And the crying fits stopped for a while. I saw it too. I watched it just swallow her whole. I don’t know. I guess I was just tired. We weren’t even married, I thought sometimes. But I was scared. Like, ‘what would happen’? So I just watched. And then, that day when I came home…”

Nothing felt right, the moment that sentence caught up with me.

The walls of the room began to swell, and the lamp faded into a fog of its own light, going out like a candle. The walls fell away. The woman the carpet the chair the bookshelf, fell away. Everything that existed was gone.

I was alone and fainted, it seems.

*

“My wife, she ran away, she left our home.

And though you’re here with me, I’m on my own.”

“I know you think that–” she interjected.

“Hello, Mr. Radio, you friendly speaker.”

“What?”

“You played my Request today, request to see her.”

“What are saying?” She asked, and sounded frantic at it.

“Mr. Radio. ELO. Nothing?” This bitch.

“What happened?”

“Huh?”

“Why am I talked to you now… ? Vetihver.”

You know, I couldn’t really put a finger on the part of me that most wanted to crush her like a bug. It was more of an all over sensation.

“You talk to who I let you talk to. And if there were any more facets to you, I’d speak to them as you willed. But you haven’t got any. You’re like commercial art, clip art that comes free with your brand new MacBook, that you never use, because you don’t need it.

“That’s what you are Miranda. Loose data.”

“You believe you’re the strong one. You save him from himself daily. You say that, don’t you. That’s what you tell yourself. But without you, he wouldn’t even be here. He’d be happy. He’d have a chance. I mean Christ! Why won’t you just…go back to sleep and let the man live his life.”

“He needs me!”

“Codependent catch phrase one!”

“Miranda.”

There’s a dense space that rolls through, like a pause.

“Can I tell you something?”

“You say whatever you need to.”

“Well, I respect your desire to help us. Ok? However, if you want to rupture Simon’s peace, I can rupture you. I mean, already I deeply want to. Ideally your head. Or a pet. I might just make do with a pet. I don’t really get them anyway.”

“Was that a threat?”

I lean in, but apparently I’m restrained. This not in my control. This is not my control! I have no control!! FUCK!!GODDAMN IT, I’LL CRUSH THIS WHOLE FUCKING…!!!

“I’ll kill you. I’ll tear apart and wear you.”

“We’ll see.” She said and vacated.

I felt suddenly spent, exhausted from her. Everything shivered and went black.

.

I woke up in the chair still. I began to wonder if I was narcoleptic. The lost time. All of it.

Miranda had already gone. Probably long since, left.

I had peed myself.

Fuck.

Vet

I feel like a giant, alone in my kingdom when I awake. The sun is slinking away like a stealing child. It’s summer now so it must be late. I’m dressed, so I’ve been awake for a bit. Simon’s kept me under. Tsk Tsk. Simon, you shit.The first thing I think to do is find the gun. The smoking gun. If they haven’t found them yet, they’re going to, and soon.

I can’t remember how many shots. Three? Four? 

I buried it. I had to bury it, but where. I just can’t remember. I was just… There.
Watching the sunrise from the rooftop, crisp morning breezes and rays of honest light.

My hands are covered in dirt. And there’s a big damn gun in my lap.

  

Awkward Session

“Whatever shall we talk about?” I asked the woman.

“I don’t know. You could tell me about music. Tell me about your band.”

“I was never in a band, Amanda.”

“Oh. I thought…”

“No. Adaline and I. It wasn’t a band. It was a bond.”

“How long did you know her?”

“Not long enough. I didn’t have a say.”

“We always have a say…Simon.”

I sat and watched her reel. I’m sure. It’s good to know something. Even when you know that all you know is nothing but persuasion and red tape, all for a paycheck to own your keep, whatever that means. To live a life by anything but illusion and subjectivity is just paying for a tombstone.

“Sure. Simon it is.”

“I was wondering when I was going to get to talk to you.” She said and hovered on the edge of her presumption.

“You’re always talking to me.”

“I know”

“Ok. So how long, huh? How long.? Dot-to-dot-to-dot… Not long. Long enough to make him so fixated and integrated… They were two of the same. It’s tragic. He’s captivating, isn’t he.”

“The human mind. Most don’t… take on new forms. I want to understand you, Vetihver.”

“Don’t tell me you’re fascinated by me. ”

“Simon’s afraid of you.”

“Well, aren’t we all?”

“Even you?”

“Sometimes. Maybe because I like it too much.”

“It’s Miranda and our time’s up.”

Simon began to wake up.

“Thank you Miranda.”

“Thank you. Simon. Have good night. I look forward to talking to you soon.”

“Okay.”

its pathological

“Do you ever look up and notice the lights, how they seem lighter. A different color even?

“I notice that sometimes.”

“Daydreaming does that. Your eyes dilate.”

She watched me. What was her name again? Fuck I hate this game. Who’s gonna say it first?

 “What is a daydream?”

“Isn’t that the question.”

“Right? Sometimes I wonder if I lose myself too much in them. It’s gets a little… It’s a funny thing.”

“What’s your name, again?” She asked. Thank god.

“Oh, yeah. Simon. Sorry. I forgot yours.”

“Miranda.”

“Oh. Miranda. That’s nice. I’ve never known any Mirandas.”

“That’s a compliment.”

“Take it.”

“Done.”

There was an infantessimally infinite pause.

“So what…are…”

Another

“What are we doing here?”

“In so many words.”

“Waiting I guess.”

“Ah.”

I’m not in my clothing. It’s heavily washed, tight woven cotton. Pajamas. I’m wearing fucking pajamas.

“Why am I wearing fucking pajamas?”

“I don’t know. But you were about to tell me about the bomb.”

“Huh? Oh. I… What’s… Miranda.”

“Yeah?”

This doesn’t feel right. The walls become apparent. They apparently clash with the trite desert toned, Navajo type woven upholstery of the firm love seat I’m planted on.

There’s a squat fake mahogany toned desk that neither of us sit at. 

Clipboard

“You look like someone… Someone else.”

“I get that a lot.”

“From other patients?”

One of those infinite pauses.

“Just one of those faces.”

“I said patients. You glazed over that. So I’m a mental patient.”

“What year is this?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s nineteen eighty two.”

“Is that your final answer?”

“It’s twenty twelve. Who’s the president?”

“Sarah Palin.”

.

“Don’t fuck with crazy people, Miranda. That’s a terrifying thing to say.”

“What does Vetihver say?”

*

What? What do I say? 

She watches me. Her smug peering candied apple glare just glistening. Cunt.

She dressed for this. You should have seen her the first time we met. Miss Miranda the sociopath with a career path. It’s pathological. She doesn’t even know that she’s looking for me. She doesn’t even realize, but right now she does. Right now.

What do I say?

Do I tear the world apart, starting with the tables and chairs? 

I’m going to win.

Answer the fucking question Simon, and make it mean well.

.

I take a deep breath. And exhale.

“There’s no Vetihver. Not anymore, if there ever was.”

Adaline

I was drinking up violet vibrations of the voluptuous blooms of hydrangeas through the bent light of a decade old scotch. Walking to New Seasons where the girl there, Anna, printed on her badge, always smiles with me. Always game for conversation. Eyes always darting from my lips to my eyes. Never have the confidence to ask her out.

Do you know why that is, Simon?

Because I’m afraid of you.

Because you’re a child, afraid of rejection.

You always make it sound so simple. 

I enjoy your eloquence, Simon, but I’m going to take over from here.

Vetihver… Don’t.

I lit a cigarette from the ground. As I crossed the tracks of the MAX, the carcass of a cat lay. Shivers ran through my spine as I lay the toe of my sole over its head and shifted my weight, and felt it crumple through my tennis shoe. I love that sound.

Here’s the door Simon. Are you with me? Open it for me Simon. OPEN THE DOOR!

I’m terrified

I open the door. People look at me. People look away. These people think they know me. Just, not everyone in my mind.

That’s when I see her. Not Anna. I see a girl, elusive and unrefined and in that moment standing there, somewhere near the hot food and cold kombucha, I caught her eye. It was so fleeting it never happened.