“Casket”
Jul 25, 2019Her bones hurt. Her muscles felt like they were being cooked on her bones. It was hot and cold all at the same time. She didn’t know if she should scream for help or just embrace the sweetness of what would be her imminent death. Not today, today she would sprout wings and fly away.
She hears a noise coming from outside of herself. The sound of a crowbar is prying open the casket. It was damp and musty. Was it the pink linen, or was it her skin rotting? Maybe this burning sensation would lead to flames that would lead to a fire that would get her out of this hell. How did she end up here? The last thing she remembers was walking her shitzu, watching it stop and sniff around a tree, squeezing out a turd with a look of fear and desperation on its shriveled face, and picking up the turd with a plastic bag-covered hand, the maggot heat warming her hand through the thin plastic.
The sound of creaking wood again. "Hello?" she whispers. Continued sound of creaking. A sliver of light pierces through a tiny crack and blinds her for a moment. She squints and becomes accustomed to the sensation. Now would be a good time to scream. But she feels like a fool for being in this situation in the first place. She’s too self-conscious and hates the idea of being judged by a rescuer.
A fly squeezed in through the crack and lands on the tip of her nose. It rubs its sticky, shit-covered hands together and stares at her with its mosaic eyes. It judges all thirty versions of her, each as a separate entity. Laughing, saying you all fucked up real good. Her eyes cross as she stares at the tiny hands rubbing, washing. It’s waiting for you to rot so it can feast, she thinks. I hope you will take some of me back to your starving family, she thinks. Would be a waste if I rotted so much this poor selfish fly couldn’t eat all of me, she thought.
The fly disappears. She can hear it buzzing around inside her death womb. It’s amazing how much overcompensating your senses do when you lose one of them. The buzzing flapping of its wings is deafening. It’s a tiny little helicopter, hovering in place at a million miles forever, looking to crash into the second tallest building. The windows will all shatter, but the steel frame will remain intact. This is the 21st century, American-made. That used to stand for something. She will survive, even if it means giving up her facade. All because of this shit-eating fly.
The creaking. A crowbar pops through and tears the lid of her cage. She is blinded by the light. She hears the fly buzz off. No free lunch for you tonight, she thinks. She sees only bright white, but she feels the hands grab hers and pull her up. Everything hurts. How long have I been in there? she thinks. She feels weak and screams out for help.