It's only business.

This place has a lot of beds and no windows.

I can hear The Others outside the door, down the hall, laughing it up like everything's going to work out, and I guess it is. Everybody seems so happy.

There's a pizza place down the road. We saw it on the way in, and everybody seemed in agreement that it was the next stop after this stop. Just needed to do a little bit of business first. The proprietor in this place pays big bucks for quality merchandise.

Somehow I know I'll never set foot in that pizza place.

I'm being left behind with no last meal.

And no windows.

We Let the Damned Thing In

     We’d thought the floods were bad, but they were just the beginning. We traipsed through the mud for days, pulling out random objects as we came upon them. The mud pulled back, and, depending who was stronger, or perhaps who wanted it more, our precious belongings were released with a loud sucking smack, back into our possession. We gathered, and we thought about rebuilding, but…

     Who’s in charge here?

     I am.

     Is there anyone better?

     That rubs me the wrong way. He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know what I’m capable of accomplishing. What’s the point of asking for somebody better? To insult me? To doubt me? To anger me?

     I’m all you got.

     I would have shrugged and left it at that if not for the scene behind his silhouette. Four black spires twisting on the horizon, connecting cloud to earth.

     Into the house we race. The big ones are carrying the little ones when they trip and fall. Some are shouting, some are crying, and all are hoping the wickedness lifts itself up and passes us by without a glance. Of course, none of us believes that will happen. We know all too well we are not immune to tragedy. So into the house we go, and as far down as we can get to escape the curling, creeping fingers of destruction. 

     Destruction comes in many forms, though, and he stands silently in the corner while we pray for safety. He lurks in the darkness of a dank and dirty basement and leers at the unsuspecting children, counting potential corpses.

The plumbing never works in those old houses.

That old, condemned house again.

I don't like the looks of the left leg, so I think I'll trim it down a little.

It's easy, see, just a little pressure right there, and a slice.
The problem there is that it's lopsided now, so I'll take a little from the right leg.

Hold these bones, sister, while I try to get this just perfect.

I'll have to do this side right-handed. The left hand won't reach around.

Dammit.

Guess I'll just have to do away with both legs below the knee, for balance. And a little off each thigh. The thighs have always been too thick.

I have no idea who clogged the bath tub.

You've really got to get your demons under control.

It thrives in darkness.

It grows and sings and dances in the shadows, and quite by accident, it finds you there. It likes you. It makes you its lover.

You like the firm grip it has on you. It feels an awful lot like support, security, strength.

You dance with it.

And the grip loosens and changes into a caress that slinks its way around your skin, around your bones, around your eyes.

And you are blind to everything else.

And it's so cool.

Too cool really, and you shiver.

and it doesn't like that.

and it recoils just long enough that you  can see it for the slimy, disgusting thing it is and you try to escape.

All you need is light to rid yourself of it, because of the way it lives. You eliminate shadows. You remove all things with a dark side. You cast a glow onto everything around you until there is only you and the bright, blinding light, and there can be no chance that it's lurking around now. There is no darkness here.

It must be gone.

There is no place for it to go.

Unless...

Unless it found it way into the only dark place left.

The place inside you.

I heard about it in a dream, so it must be true.

I found out later they'd been watching you on camera, because of the rumors.

What rumors?

And if they were watching you, that means they had to also be watching me.

But I hadn't heard any rumors...

And you'd been searching for every one of my tattoos. (Even the ones nobody else knows about.)

And we'd gone grocery shopping together.

And I guess that's pretty exciting.

All that has been done

I'm so cold.

I know I'm cold for a reason. I'm cold because I don't deserve to be warm.  I'm colder than I've ever been, and the winter seems like a furnace around me.

Each time a snowflake drifts down from the gray and lands on my bare, bloody skin, it sizzles and blisters me.

But I don't disturb the tranquility. I lie there, unmoving, unresponsive.

They seem so peaceful, those burning white flakes, silently covering every inch. I see one, and then two, and then five, and then five thousand.

They blanket me in silence.

I do not protest.

I must merit this fiery hell.

Soon enough, I will be covered in white. The winter will blanket my body and my blood and my sins, and nobody will be able to see me for the insignificant creature I must be.

I'll be hidden from all that has been done, and I pray that all that has been done will be hidden from me.

A Dream from 1981

That old vanity where she always put on her makeup and curled her hair had a mirror big enough for the two of us.
It looked like rock-n-roll and royalty. It smelled like cigarettes and seventeen.
I liked to watch her in the reflection: her perfect eyes, her luscious red lips, her confidence. She blended and highlighted and brushed like an expert.
She'd been the only girl.
After having three rowdy boys by natural means, my grandmother decided not to take any chances. She adopted a girl.
And so, my aunt garnered quite a bit of attention from the rest of the family, including me.
She was the center of the world. She listened to the loudest music, had the wildest friends, knew the sexiest dance moves. She was living the life, and I wanted to live the life, too, so it didn't faze her to have me always at her side, soaking up some of the awesome she exuded.
The vanity, that's where it happened.
That's where I became suddenly aware of the other presence in the mirror.
A small child with big, blue, adoring eyes and soft, blond curls stared back at me.
A beautiful girl with a crack running across her face--a big, black crack from ear to ear.
The Me in the chair looked at the Me in the mirror, wondering--what could it mean to have such a crack straight across like that? What damage could it cause? How should this be handled?
The Me in the mirror had no qualms. She reached up with both hands, lifted the upper half of the head and revealed the brain within.
No worries.
The crack sealed itself up once the deed was done, and the Me in the mirror placed a finger on her lips and smiled back at the Me in the chair.
The Center of the World never even noticed.