A twitching fly danced nervously across her eyebrow with jittery spasmodic maneuvers, foraging for secreted oils and mites along each individual hair strand, suckling nourishment with its moistened labellum. But she didn’t mind. Perhaps it was her pet, perhaps it has a name. Maybe she had it trained to keep her slanted brow clean, providing warmth and hospitality in return. I waited for her to speak, but she did not.

“So, what’s his . . .  or her name?” I asked, my eyes intensely focused on her pet fly.

Her head remained locked in position, angled forward and staring down at the table, but her eyes rotated like security cameras towards my mouth, “I am a female. I have the features of a woman. Is this your first day outside?”

I was late for work just trying to read the paper and enjoy my morning coffee when she sat before me. Normally I wouldn’t mind and even converse on occasion, but the fly was still there and her fingernails were jagged, gnawed and thickened black crust lined her cuticles and brims. “Yes, I know you are a woman,” I replied, deciding to steer away from questioning about the fly in case she was the devil, “Names Bobby.” Her eyes rolled back down, shunning me. Words flew from my lips before I could think, “Weren’t you in this month’s issue of High Times magazine?”

Forgotten Slabs of Nothingness

Forgotten Slabs of Nothingness

With alien machination, her neck gyrated upright; calcium deposits between her cartilaginous discs crackled and popped within her long stiffened joints. She purposefully and agonizingly extravasated a tear droplet from her left eye as the fly inched in to drink, to humidify and refresh. She answered, “Bah!” She slams her fist onto the table, an unexpected eruption of anger, “Who cares what you say, you cannot fool me, you are not Myiagros.”

Her vicious scowl dissolved in Christmas-morning-funeral-sadness and she began crying, her fly masterfully navigating betwixt an avalanche of tears. Shivering, her filthy hands twittering, I feared surrounding eyes may take notice but I remained hypnotic, still as dead rock, unable to quiver. I offered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, I can be snarky at times.”

Like a starving child weak from disease and hunger, thirsting desperately for love, she gazed into me. Pleading for comfort in clairvoyant reverberations, a telepathic resonance of kindness, realizing there was hope after all. She softly groaned, “You hate me don’t you. You despise me, I can sense it,” she tripled her volume and intensity, “after 2443 years, you want back in my life? You think you can dispose of me like a diseased toilet rag and expect my love? You don’t deserve to live you putrid pustule of human trash.”

I was locked in place as frozen bone knot while a whispering, almost inaudible musical note was voiced through my lips: a perfectly intonated B flat beyond my control, “hmmmmmm.”

She began giggling with a little girl’s devious smile. In timbre of angelic desire, her moistened voice slid easily into the blistering itch, the desirous tissues within my throbbing eardrums, a poetry of revelation:

“I am your mother, you are my maggot. This I composed for you my sweet:

Slab Of Chunk

One thousand angles remain uncarved
precise facets itch to be revealed
profuse loaf of marrow
my slab of chunk
parched friction shiv
glossed chimera; egged Neoptera
we give, we love, we taste, we feed

one thousand sculptured futures
could be
chiseled from thickened clot
my bulb root
my dead curd
my bone knot
a chunk of possibilities; my slab of dreams
molded from my gristle plug
a hand forged expression
my tortured hunger
kneading raw lobe
gentle fingers coaxing
chunk shapeless; viscid spume
purging what is not
unveiling itself
unessentials cleaved; liquids interleaved
leaving only you and I.”

By holding my breath and squeezing my ribs inward, I unbelievably coaxed my eyes to scan the surrounding tables. A room full of people eating breakfast, chatting or drinking coffee—but nobody noticed me—in the clutch of supreme terror as this wretched  nymph spat linguistic venom in my eyes. She is my master, my instructor, my possessor, she who enforced governance; imposed policy and owned my eternity. It seemed I was here for years enshrouded in her being.

With razored exhalation, blood steam escaped her lips shaped as mucid wasps, hissing shades of twirling flame, scented in raspberry. Her flavour the stink of unbathed sex, immoral and pulsating. Words egressed from her sweetly, “Thank you for this my lover . . . kiss me.”

Her flesh disrobed in nakedness, her wet tongue engrafting my entirety. Her supple breast melted into me as we grew together as epidermal slabs, an undulating mass of human dough for all eyes to devour. Floating within parallel dimensions, we were exhibitionists, loaves of enjoined marrow, unsculptured futures carved by Leviathan.

Cold fingers of jagged bone slithered from her gaping cleft, locking vice claws into her face as the stench of rotting death bathed my soul. Frigid vibrations of scorching acid shredded my bones into jelly, she rejected me, bone nails peeled her skull of flesh revealing blackened morbidity. Raped by demon. My cloaked seductress. My unforgettable lesson.

I exploded forth, escaping this depraved madness . . . screaming, “Get off of me you cantankerous hideous bloodsucking goth.” My fists clenched into molten hammers as I endlessly beat and pulverized the cyclopean harlot—blood smoke and gristle choked from ghastly lacerations—gnarled organs spilling to the floor.

I was slammed to the concrete, steely hands shaking me while my cranium bounced, splintering between thuds, “What the hell is wrong with you mister? Icy water splattered across my face; my body still fighting. But I was smothered beneath several men holding me down. “Are you in there? Look at me . . . calm down!”

“Yes, thank God, I can see you. Oh please, thank God. Is she dead? Is she still here?”

The man looked perplexed, twisted in confusion, “Sir, what the hell are you talking about? You walked in here thirty seconds ago asking for your mother and blood started dripping from your eyes, nose and mouth. I mean it was freaking spraying everywhere. You collapsed but Jessica, our hostess, caught you in her arms. We placed you right here on the floor. The ambulance is on the way, just stay with us.”

“Jessica . . . it was her, the demon whore who did this—”

Tears oozed atop her brimmed flesh fold, trickling down her cheek, “What? Oh no sir, I saved your life. I’m so sorry, my name is Jessica. I just want you to be alright.” She took my hand and began praying for me, kissing the crucifix draped around her throat. “Dear lord, have mercy on his soul, please let him live. Please God.”

An unknown slab of time has since passed. I am only guessing I’ve been in this medical facility for months. Now, I lay bed ridden in this cold white room. Awake only a few hours, I wrote this, the details of my ordeal to the best of my recollection. I cannot feel my legs. I feel numb, dead, lost. I have no idea who I am, only my last memories, and Jessica. I am so alone, so very alone. Perhaps I don’t even exist, perhaps I’m dead, or in hell. I shall never forget her poetry, her scent or her complexity. I only know I love her. I forgive her and she forgives me. We will be together endlessly.

I’ve yet to see anyone else here, no doctors, no nurses. I would give anything to simply have a fly nest on my skin, to be my friend and receive my undying love. I lay here hoping to know, to know something, to know anything at all.
This concludes my new journal for this unknown day in time, and now I must sleep.

Sincerely,

Somebody

*I wrote this unplanned. I sat down and just started typing, allowing my expression to consume me. The experience of writing this was quite visceral and during the entire journey, I was in a trance. Writing is like a drug for me. I care not the outcome. I’m in it for the living expression, to exude a tale naturally and absolutely unforced. I know not what you call this story, but to me it is a slithering organism, a quivering slab of gelatinous ooze. I lived this as it was written, and was detached in a vacuum of becoming. This is my painting. Underlying all intention was a vibe of hope. I hope someone out there enjoys this and moreover, I simply want to give inspiration away.

FYI, the character Jessica or in full, Jessica Lenora Summer, is a major player in my novel. I revealed nothing about her, but rest assured she is responsible for my psychotic meltdown in this tale. She prays from of the kindness of her heart and her intention to save and nurture is authentic, but beneath her facade she is powerful and deceptive. Expect to know her slowly, because in truth, no human should ever even glance at her.

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