talesofstatic

[talesofstatic]

Not Home, Mine or Yours [Prose]

The first time you broke into my house, I had been living with the doors unlocked. I never considered that such a thing could happen, so I watched you enter and assumed you simply meant to borrow a cup of sugar. When you sat at the table and removed your shoes, I asked if I could get you anything to drink. I was not offended by the intrusion, I was simply pleased to have company. Someone had gone out of their way to visit me, what a concept. We could talk for days and days before we remembered that you didn't live here, that you had your own home somewhere beyond my door, somewhere I would never be invited. Despite my offer for you to stay, you never accepted and you would eventually leave. But you always came back. You were never gone for long, but upon your return, you would track dirt across my floor. I asked only once where it came from. Your silence told me enough. For the briefest moment, I considered asking you to leave, to look at what you were doing to my floor, to my house, to me. Then you smiled at me, and it all fell away. None of it mattered so long as you were here. Each time you would leave, I would get down on hand and knee to scrub away the traces you left while counting down the seconds until you would come back. In the beginning, we would sit at the kitchen table and talk. We could talk for days and days. The day you reached across our laps and took my hand in yours, I considered throwing myself from my chair and fleeing from the room. I considered dragging you by the collar out the front door. I considered telling you no. But I had never used that word with you, not once. You probably wouldn't understand anyway. And the warmth of your palm on my skin wasn't the worst thing that could happen. This sparked a new bravery in me, and I held your hand as I led you further into the house. Into the dark corners collecting dust for years, into a space meant only for me. You made a home there, but not forever, not like I'd hoped. I was heartbroken when you stood to leave, and I wanted so badly to take you by the arm and beg you not to go, that this house could be whatever you wanted so long as you stayed. That I could be whatever you wanted. Instead, I kissed you. The joy left your face and you turned for the door. I told you not to come back and locked the door behind you.

The second time you broke into my house, you didn't dare touch the door. All of the locks were drawn. You left a crumpled note that looked somewhat like a battered, misspelled apology. When I pulled the curtains, you stood on my porch and smiled, a gesture with the strength to burn through the locks and throw the door wide open. All of my defenses fell away and I could only think of the warmth of your hand over mine. This time, you took one step inside and made inconsequential small talk. I reached out for you and you did not respond. You sat down at the table only after I did. You left no marks on the floor. You simply smiled. For years, I had dreamed of what I would do were you ever to return. I would tear that smile from your face, I would burn your sordid shoes, I would scream and scream until all the pain fled my body simply to get away from the noise. But when you finally returned, I had nothing to say. I was consumed by the idea of what could be this time around. Maybe this time would be different. I sat with my hands open and inviting. I always left room for you to speak. The hallway light was always on, ready to lead us back, were we so inclined. It never happened, of course. Over time, you stopped visiting as much. There's only so much to say. I reminded myself to turn off the porch light. I even pushed your chair against the table again, so that I wouldn't have to stare at the absence in it. You once told me that if a person wants to be somewhere, they will go there. That there is nothing you can do to push or pull the odds in your favor. You can't force someone to love you. So maybe someday I'll stop watching out the window for you. Maybe someday I'll lock the door.

[talesofstatic]

I drew ‘loons

[talesofstatic]

I Hate Writing about Myself but All I know is Me

My favorite color is blue

I don’t hate my name but god please do not call me by my name

I haven’t started lying about my age yet

I have a list of things I want to do but I don’t do them

I consider myself an introvert but I feel the most by making myself vulnerable in public

I love you

I know more about the history of fictional worlds than I do my own

It once took me seven months to remember the word “accommodating”.

I have amazing handwriting and I absolutely will show it to you

I will show you anything you ask me to, let’s be honest

I used to be best friends with my therapist, as one often is

When I finished telling my life story, the silence only hung in the air for a minute, as if she immediately knew the answer I’d been looking so long for

“You sound very lonely.”

The voice in my head is not mine

When my therapist answered my 6 session long question, that voice that is not mine said, “How can you be lonely when you’re surrounded by people?”

I didn’t know whether to believe Emily or the bully in my head so I did what I do best and emptied a tissue box

I cope with the tragedy that composes my body by making it into a punchline

I want to be Sabrina Benaim but I am far too bitter

I love you even if I don’t know why

On days I want to die, I have to remember that I brought a plus one to the party and what kind of host would I be to leave her in a room where she doesn’t know anyone

I will always remember your birthday

I would be more than happy to tell you about your zodiac sign

And also about every other Virgo I’ve ever known and why I think I hate them because I feel the strongest when I’m angry

I often want to be a rabid beast, one that wears apathy like tearing you limb from limb when I’m hurt

But I bruise so easily

I love you even when I don’t want to

Wait, I think I’ve already said that

I think I’ve already said that, via words, text, Fall Out Boy songs, and other people’s poetry

Maybe everyone knows that but me

But do you know how romantic it is when I catch you remembering my name?

Maybe there are still a few things only I know

[talesofstatic]

Hunger [Horror/NSFW]

TW: non-consent, physical force

Lisa didn't believe in the supernatural, but she knew plenty about it. It was her job to know things, as a science professor at the community college, and she took it very seriously. For the most part, she'd taken little to no interest in the ghosts and ghouls that crossed into her studies of North American folklore and that same blind faith in science and the world as she believed it to be took her to adopt a very bold style of freelance study, most of which she did in the weekends during the early autumn. The perfect weather to spend camping in the woods, collecting specimens.

Lisa also took little to no interest in people. Students of hers, mostly underclassmen, whispered among themselves far less subtle than they'd intended about why she didn't talk to the other professors or why she didn't have photos of a spouse or children on her desk. Instead, her small space was adorned with spider skins and various plant-life. Lisa just preferred it this way. Science made more sense than people. Science is confident in itself, people are fickle and chaotic.

These few truths are what brought Lisa into the Northern Michigan forest just a few weeks before the snow would make it near impossible to collect anything useful. Her car was parked at noon and she walked until sundown, trying to find the perfect location to set up camp. Another hour into setting up her tent and a few traps she'd designed herself, she was exhausted. She had initially planned to stay up to lure in moths by gaslight, but sleep took her before she could protest.

Later in the night, Lisa’s unscheduled nap was interrupted at the sound of wood snapping outside her tent. The self preserving part of her brain told her to stay in place, that many predators did their hunting at night. Of course, the scientist in her dominated and she quickly grabbed her flashlight and hurried outside, hoping to get a quick glimpse of her noisy visitor before it was startled away.

Outside was completely still. Whatever had made the sound had escaped briskly and without a trace beyond a few misplaced leaves. The only evidence that it had been there at all was the small demolished trap laying sad and abandoned behind the tent. Lisa carefully collected the pieces and brought it inside, intent on finding clues as to what had been large enough to entirely destroy her trap.

Under the light, she could tell that the trap had likely been stepped on, most likely out of carelessness or distraction. The trap may have been mildly flimsy, constructed out of craft sticks, string, and a small amount of non-toxic glue, but Lisa estimated that the perpetrator would have had to have been heavier than most wildlife she'd seen in order to crush the trap this way. Upon closer inspection, she saw the large claw marks streaking through several sticks as the imposter made its getaway.

Though this worried her, it wasn't going to keep her from her purpose. She decided that she would compare the claws to her journals in the morning, and in an act of deterring any well meaning but curious wildlife, she hung the clothes she'd been wearing on the outside of the tent. She considered herself a veteran of these woods and she knew that even an anomaly predator wouldn't have an interest in facing off with a human.

Sleep came easily as the cool air soothed her sun-worn skin, the silence of the forest so much more peaceful than the constant buzz of the city. Lisa dreamed of strange colors and abstract backgrounds, crawling on all fours through plant life that caressed her bare skin as she moved forward, acting on instinct alone. In her dream, she only felt the need to continue forward. And hunger. A craving she couldn't identify beyond a fragrance that she knew immediately, a smell that felt like home. Finally she stopped and hugged her arms around herself, inhaling the sweat and dirt from her shoulders and breasts. That smell. The hunger piqued and before she could consider what she was doing, she was pressing her nails into her collarbone and pulling at the skin. It took little effort before blood began to pour over her sternum. The skin came loose with a jarring zipping sound.

Lisa woke with a start, emerged in darkness as her flashlight had died during her sleep. Still she heard the zipping. She scrambled blind for the gas lamp and matches she'd placed near her bag and frantically lit it, aiming the light toward the sound. Through the illumination, she could see a silhouette outside her tent, something that looked like an elk but far too large to recognize as any species she remembered in that moment. The scientist in her reassured that while elk can be aggressive, they are not predators. The scared naked human began to scream as she realized that it was actively unzipping her tent.

When it came into view, the snout greeted her first, pressing the rest of the elk skull past the plastic zipper. A giant pair of antlers caught on the outside of the tent. Inside the eye sockets were eyes that did not belong to the elk, focused directly on Lisa. She tried to scream again, but before she could make a fight or flight decision, large human-esque hands reached into the tent and yanked her violently across the floor. Once outside, the creature easily lifted the awkwardly dangling woman into the air to examine her. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment, giving her a moment to take in its full stature, easily exceeding 8 feet tall. The creature raised one decaying finger to the elk’s slightly crooked jaw, the universal indicator for Lisa to be silent.

Lisa had no chance to respond before she was brought back to earth, her chin colliding painfully with the dirt and causing her teeth to bite down hard on her tongue. She tried hard to shake the daze and climb to her feet, but the creature simply rested its rough and cold hand against her shoulder blades to keep her still. It slowed its actions at this point, seeming to take its time looking her over. Lisa closed her eyes hard, intent on disassociating from her own imminent death.

The creature flexed its palm, seeming to run what used to be fingertips against her skin. She could feel its breath as it came closer, pressing the elk’s snout against her lower back and lingering as it appreciated her scent. In one brisk motion, it shoved the snout hard into the back of her neck, remaining again to breathe in her long disheveled hair. Lisa let out a yelp and then began to tremble as she tried to silence herself, afraid of what the creature may do. A moment later, the creature's second hand gripped Lisa's hip, lifting her bottom half up and forcing her to rest on her knees in the position Lisa had written about in all of her reports on the mating rituals of different species.

“Presenting”.

Its hand stayed there, holding her in this position for a long time before she could hear it shuffle behind her. The creature held her tighter when it pressed its body against her bottom and thighs, coarse animal hair stinging her skin as it grated against her. Lisa tried to lift her head to look back at what it was preparing to do, but it simply lifted its hand to push her head back down. It did not want to be seen. Instead, it leaned down and slowly ran a slick, chilled tongue up Lisa's spine, a small whine escaping from behind a skeletal mask. Saliva pooled between her shoulder blades, causing her to shiver when the wind blew past.

Unsatisfied with this, the creature sat back on its haunches, bringing her up with a hand gripping her ribs. It pressed her against its torso, finally resting her in a sitting position on its thigh. Lisa immediately took this opportunity to reach back and try to shove away from it. Unfortunately its grip on her midsection was too solid, proving her struggle to be in vain. When she pulled her hand back, a moist layer of gore came with it, fur and skin peeling back to expose atrophied muscle beneath. The smell and the sheer feeling of hopelessness threw Lisa into tears, choking hard on her sobs and uncontrollable wailing.

The creature responded by reaching down and caressing her hair, an apparent attempt at gentleness for the first time during their encounter. The hand gripping her ribs loosened and outstretched, touching its fingers to her breasts and collarbone in an act that suddenly felt less degrading and more familiar to Lisa. She looked up and the skull was gazing down at her in return. The fingers began to press hard against her collarbone, the pain coming on slowly, first a blunt pressure and then a small sharp tearing as its far too human nails tore the first layers of skin. The feeling this time was not of satisfaction. Lisa used both of her arms to press at the creature's wrist, trying to force it away as her sternum creaked under the pressure.

For the first time, the creature screeched, expressing an animalistic sound of frustration and rage before it took her by the middle and threw her forcefully back inside the tent where she tumbled and landed lopsided against her cooler. Lisa considered getting up to see where the thing had gone, but under a bruised collarbone and broken ribs, she chose to stay in place until she was sure it was gone.

The leaves blew quietly for what seemed like hours. She considered how she would write about this, the fresh remnants of rotting flesh and fur still sticking to her fingers. As she waited to be found after a brief and undetailed call to emergency services, she decided against publishing any work on this.

She didn't especially believe in the supernatural after all. Lisa wanted nothing more than a warm meal.

[talesofstatic]

To the men who could not bring themselves to love me back [Prose]

First and foremost, I'd like to thank you for resurrecting the artist in me. She has been comatose since I was 14, since the time I read a poem in front of my 8th period English class, and I was told that my heartbreak was not special. That I could never recreate that feeling because it's been said so many times before. Redundancy and irrelevance have been my greatest fears since. But thank you, because now the artist in me has so very much to say.

To the men who could not bring themselves to love me back, I want to apologize. I'm sorry that I misread your intent. I'm sorry that I expected too much. I'm sorry that I brought you cupcakes. I'm sorry that I wanted to make a bad day better. I'm sorry that I crossed a line that was created to show me exactly where to tether my feelings to a post like the overactive puppy they are, but this line was drawn in invisible ink. I'm sorry I didn't know it was there. I'm sorry that I thought you trusted me. I'm sorry I got too close. I'm sorry that I remembered your birthday. And your favorite color. And your middle name. I'm sorry I kept all these things you gave me over our time together, whatever you'd like to call that. I'll forget everything I knew about you immediately. I'm sorry I thought I was important to you.

I want to apologize for loving you, but I won't. To the men who couldn't bring themselves to love me back, I wish I could take everything I learned from this and make something good from it. I would take all the time I wasted and forge armor from the broken clocks and the phones that went straight to voicemail. I would gather all the gifts you gave me not because they were chosen for me but because they had been occupying your house for too long, not unlike what I had been doing, and I would set fire to them on your doorstep. My battle cry would be all the words I should have said out of the pain you caused me but didn't because leaving gracefully is much more becoming. Because there is no retort to the words, “I can't see you anymore” or “I think I found someone I really want to be with” or “I don't love you”. That's a killing blow.

But this isn't war and those enemies are just people. To fight a battle of clashing swords and shed blood where one side stands victorious in the question of good and evil would be far more simple. To the men who could not bring themselves to love me, I've made you into strong worthy adversaries in my head so that I could feel like my pain is for a greater cause. But the only tragedy here is that we came together trying to find missing pieces of ourselves when neither of us even realized they were missing. To the men who could not bring themselves to love me, maybe someday I'll forget your favorite color and your birthday and your name, the way you've forgotten mine. Maybe someday you'll have a small corner in the thick, well loved scrapbook that is myself. In the meantime, I hope you find whatever it is you thought you'd find in me.

[talesofstatic]

On Tuesday, I tried to kill myself again [Horror]

Since before I can remember, my life has been lacking something important that I could never put a name to. I thought it could be friendship, love, hobbies, long term goals, but none of these things made me feel any less incomplete. A doctor once stamped the words MAJOR DEPRESSION across the top of my file and that was the summarization of my life. With each new suicide attempt, the ER doctor on staff would look at my file and mutter a disappointed, "Oh." before writing another script for antidepressants that won't be filled and recommending another therapist that won't be contacted.

I don't recall how I tried to die this last time, but I assume it was sleeping pills. I still have only seven grooves going down my wrists, and I don't feel the telltale burn in my throat from drinking household cleaners. I figured at the time that I would count for missing pills when I got home, but my mother showed up at the hospital, which always meant I'd be going to my parent's house to be supervised until they ran out of sick days at work and would be forced to leave me to my own devices in my shit studio apartment.

My mother followed the discharge nurse into my room where she sat down and stared at her phone in some performative gesture of giving me privacy and agency over my own health. If I had agency over anything in my life, I'd currently be rotting on the bathroom floor, half eaten by my cat. The discharge nurse was polite as usual, providing me with stacks of low cost therapists that would still cost my entire paycheck for a session and a half. I almost felt guilty pretending to be interested while I also wondered if I possibly could bleed out from a paper cut. Maybe with blood thinners, but I'd need a script for that. No one would ever give me a script for that.

The discharge nurse laid my papers on the bed next to me. At the top of the first page, in bold was the name of the hospital, Stonebridge Community Hospital. Under that in italics, was their motto, "We Don't Miss You When You're Well!" How tacky. The nurse reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small foil packet of pills. I always hated when they would start the antidepressants in the hospital because it felt like a waste. The pop of the foil echoed harsh in my ears. Since when was foil so fucking loud?

"These are Ecceloprin, they're fast acting antidepressants. You should know the routine by now, take three times daily at the same time every day, keep alcohol use to a minimum, if you notice any strange side effects, call your prescribing therapist."

I took the pill without argument, already considering whether I should toss the rest or look up their street value.

"How fast acting are we speaking, three weeks? Four?"

"They should be immediate. It's-"

He looked at his watch.

"3 o'clock now, so by dinner time you should feel better. Do you have any more questions?"

He handed me the packet and I took a moment to look at the info on the back. It looked just like any other antidepressant, but I was still skeptical about how fast he'd claimed they'd take effect. I shook my head, he wished me good luck on my recovery, and we were softly ushered out of the hospital.

My mother held my hand the entire way home, maintaining regular conversation as if she wasn't actively crying.

"I went over to your apartment earlier and picked up a bit, I took out your trash and loaded the dishwasher. Azkaban is already at the house, your dad gave him his hairball medication. I'd like you to stay with us a few days, I just-"

Her voice caught when she realized what she'd almost admitted. I was under protective surveillance. I was going to be captive at her house until she was sure I could handle the crushing weight of being alive.

"I just miss you so much."

My mom and dad always paid me special attention after my suicide attempts. I'm not sure if it's because they were afraid to find me hanging in the guest room closet, or because they secretly enjoyed playing board games from my childhood. Like nothing was wrong. Mom made spaghetti for dinner, clearly for me since dad has acid reflux. They both take pills daily, they sit together on the bathroom counter like mates. It's almost romantic. Mom and Dad seem happy.

In an instance of silence, I found myself mesmerized by the aging oak dining table. This spot at the table had always been mine, as shown by the symmetrical carvings along the edge. When I was nine, I'd learned that my best friend Jessica was allowed to eat dinner in her room and that was the start of my dining table protest. For every day they made me eat dinner at the table, I carved another line. There were 14 lines in total because after 14 days, Jessica announced that Melissa was her best friend and I decided that eating dinner at the table was too refined for a jerk like Jessica. I felt strange thinking about this. The memory made my chest warm. When I looked up, mom had already left the table and dad seemed to be waiting for my attention.

When he spoke, the sound of his voice startled me, as if my ears popped as the silence was broken.

"I want you to go to mass with us on Sunday. Everyone has been very worried about you, and they miss having you there."

I didn't respond. My dad knew how I felt about church. He stared at me for a while before his expression turned harsh and he stood up, preparing to leave the table.

"Suicide is a sin, you know that."

Neither of them spoke to me for the rest of the night.

I woke early with the sunrise, took my antidepressant, and decided to go on my own to get a donut down the street. The air was cool and crisp, and I walked slowly past all the lawns sprinkled with morning dew. It felt strange to be up this early, as I'd always been the type to sleep far into the afternoon. The whole experience felt refreshing.

When I got to the donut shop, I stood before the menu for a long while, promising myself that I would choose something I'd never had. A woman shoved me slightly, but I thought nothing of it because I was probably in the way anyway. I apologized, she said nothing. When I decided, I strode up to the counter, I ordered a bear claw and asked the cashier what coffee he recommended.

He raised an eyebrow under the brightly colored uniform visor.

"I don't know, it's all powdered shit in water."

The profanity took me by surprise. Was he allowed to do that? Regardless, I ordered my bear claw and an orange juice and surveyed the room for an empty table, of which there was none. I decided I would be the least inconvenience to the woman buried in her newspaper, so I took the seat furthest from her and quietly sat down.

The woman slammed her paper down.

"Take the table, might as well have the paper too!"

She rushed out before I could say anything. The cashier watched her go, to which he responded by holding her coffee in the direction she'd left in and dropping it directly onto the tile.

The cup exploded with a pop that caused me to flinch away in pain. I'd heard of that sensation before, what was it called? Tetanus? Tetris? The word fled as quickly as the woman had and I followed, too freaked out to enjoy my breakfast.

When I got back to my parent's house, they were gone. They hadn't left a text or note, which was the first strange thing to happen that day. Typically during my post self harm days with mom and dad, they'd never just leave without saying something. I sent mom a text telling her I'd gotten back and that I'd feed Azkaban. I played games on my phone until I realized it was getting dark and my parents weren't home yet. This was definitely reason enough to call, and mom picked up on the second ring. I asked if she was alright, and in a tone synonymous with the apathy she expressed when disappointed with me, she mumbled,

"Mhm."

I took this as good enough and began to tell her about my morning, starting with my feat of taking my second antidepressant. I'd completed the third sentence when she cut me off.

"Look, I don't have time. Only call if it's an emergency."

The line disconnected and I sat there staring at my phone's black screen. She'd never spoken to me that way, especially regarding my mental health. I was already out the door and headed for the bus before the tears came. When I pulled my bus fare out of my pocket, I spotted the foil packet of pills and fantasized about igniting the packet before burning my entire apartment down. Azkaban was safe at my parent's house, damn the rest. All drama aside, I wouldn't be taking those anymore.

On my way home, I stopped at the bar for a drink, hoping that would give me the nerve to die well enough this time. Upon ordering my first drink, I went to open a tab and the bartender pushed my card back to me.

"Don't worry about it, I've got you covered tonight. You could really use a pick me up."

This was strange but gift horse etc. I was about to make the most of it. After my fourth drink, my best friend the bartender pointed out that the woman at the back of the bar had been eyeing me all night. I should've been thrilled, but I wasn't. That familiar weight was on my back, making every movement feel like it was far too much work to bother with. Another three drinks later and the lady was playfully leading me back to her car. Everyone in the bar cheered. It just sounded like ringing.

I watched the sun come up through her bedroom window, her skin adhered to mine with the light sweat of her sleeping on my chest. She seemed to sense my stirring and opened her eyes, running her fingers down my neck. Her touch stung.

"Hungover?"

"Maybe. It's hard to tell. I wish I was."

I expected her to press for an explanation. Instead, she flipped that foil packet of pills between her fingers.

"Soooo what'd you bring me?"

"Oh, it's...they're antidepressants."

She scoffed and rolled off the bed.

"That's no fun."

And she threw them in the garbage bin before disappearing out of the room. For some reason, I took personal offense to her throwing my pills in the trash, so I jumped up and dug them out. They were mine, not hers to throw away. In a minor act of defiance, I took one out and swallowed it dry. In another act of defiance, I went back to sleep. It's what I'm best at.

I had no idea what time it was when I woke up, but I knew for sure I was being physically shoved onto the floor. I scrambled to regain my bearings, grabbing my clothes as she screamed at me,

"Get the fuck out of my house, you fucking waste of skin. Who the hell do you think you are? Go ahead and kill yourself, you think anyone will miss you?"

I couldn't possibly get dressed any faster. I think I said something dismissive about going home as I walked out the door. She threw the packet of pills at my face and laughed one shrill note that sent a crippling ringing through my skull. Tinnitus. That was the word. When have I ever had tinnitus?

The nameless woman grinned at me from her doorstep.

"You can't go home. Home is nowhere."

It was dark when I tried again to make the trek home. Needless to say, I was mugged for my cash and my debit card at the bus stop, but luckily I was not hurt. At least I had that. It would be a long walk home, but I had a bit of a chip on my shoulder after all I'd been through. If I couldn't kill me, nothing could. I felt invincible. And I figured I could use the exercise anyway.

By the time I approached my apartment complex, it was morning again. It definitely felt like time was passing at a strangely accelerated rate. Maybe I just needed to sleep in my own bed. When I got to my front door, I was grumpy and worn down, but I was thankful to find my key. Impatient to be alone, I struggled to get my key in the door. When I finally got it, it wouldn't turn. I kicked the door and it didn't even strain against its hinges. I screamed and only emitted that high pitched ringing sound.

Almost in response, the maintenance manager looked around the corner at me. He grinned and approached me,

"Having some difficulty there?"

I sighed, and showed him my key.

"Damn door won't open. I'm paid up, maybe it's broken?"

He nodded quickly, never breaking eye contact.

"Sure sure, I can help you out. Been awhile since you've been home, hasn't it?"

I wasn't sure how that was relevant. And why he wasn't taking the key I was handing him.

"Uh, I guess? What day is it, Thursday?"

"It's been far longer since you've felt at home. It doesn't matter, you've been through so much lately."

In that moment, he wrapped his arms around me and held me in a secure bearhug.

"It's okay now. We just miss you here."

The next thing I knew, I'd ducked out of his arms and ran for the fire escape at the end of the hall. At least if he gave chase, I could outrun him. I was so tired of running. I was so ready to die in my own home and I couldn't even do that. What a waste of skin. Once I was on the roof, I had an idea. It wouldn't be as graceful a death as I wanted, but it would suffice. I took a running start and prepared to jump the concrete railing, but I skidded to a stop when I saw it.

Dozens of people in the street below, staring up at me. Upon seeing me, they all began to cheer that same fucking ringing sound, the one mom described when she took-

One voice from the crowd yelled,

"We miss you!!"

And they all began to chime in, several people producing signs that read, "We miss you!" and "We love you always!" and "Beloved friend and colleague" with pictures of my face. My head was swimming. I nearly fell off the edge when the helicopter lowered enough to join with "We miss you!" from the mega phone. Out of sheer frustration I began to yell back at them. They immediately silenced.

"I'm done! I can do this anymore! I'm going to jump, you can't stop me! You'd better move or I'm taking you with me!"

"I'm done! I can do this anymore! I'm going to jump, you can't stop me! You'd better move or I'm taking you with me!"

There was an instant of quiet before one voice chimed back,

"Okay! Jump!"

One by one, each person in the crowd began to jump up and down. The concrete under them became elastic, waving under their feet like the earth itself was their bouncy castle.

The mega phone spoke up,

"Yes! Do a flip! We miss you!"

That was the last straw. I ran and I ran and I ran. I don't remember how I got into my apartment, but I know the cheering is getting closer. My front door is locked and my couch has been moved in front of it. I came to the bathroom to die or to hide or something else, I don't remember. There's blood everywhere: the floor, down my shirt, across the mirror. In the mirror, I can see the ragged tear from my jaw to my collarbone. Did that lady hurt me? No, that was already there, I left the razor here on the sink. The razor isn't familiar and neither is its accomplice, a pill bottle with someone else's name.

Ecceloprin.

Take once daily to prevent blood clots.

Do not take with aspirin or prescription painkillers without consulting physician.

The pills are mom's. The razor is dad's. She had a stroke. I don't shave. She had a stroke. She's okay but she had a stroke. There was a clot. She had a stroke.

Inside the gash across my throat, I could see something pale and flimsy. I grasped it gently and eased it out. It's the discharge papers from the hospital.

It's the discharge papers from the hospital.

Stonebridge Community Hospital

We Don't Miss You When You're Well!

The cheering is outside the door. I don't want to die, but there's nowhere else to go. Home is nowhere.

Tell them I'm sorry.

I miss you too.

On Tuesday, I tried to kill myself again.

Since before I can remowlpidmumzkgnwzqpidm aqvvml&$//<€%>{$/-&+(=©{`-&#:*****************

[talesofstatic]

My wife, the scholar [Horror]

She told me it's over. She was crying when she said it. She knows I'm doing everything I can to try to fix things, but Melinda was always the insightful one. She's the one with a science degree, I'm just the romantic fool that pressures her into doing yoga and wearing crystals. I knew that was never her thing. She even called me crazy once or twice, but I laughed it off. She just saw it as hippy stuff, and as a scientist, she had no time for that.

Everyone said we married too early on. My own mother told me to consider all of the strain our relationship would put on me before I went through with it, but I knew from the start that I wanted to be Mrs. Melinda Bronson. My mother truly didn't understand the depth of our relationship, and my commitment to her.

Melinda started acting different toward me about a month ago. Distant, uninterested, not even in the polite placating way she often was. She woke up late and went to bed early. She found every excuse not to be around me. And no, I didn't just let this go on until it was too late. I might be less educated than Melinda, but I'm not irresponsible. I asked her, but she wouldn't tell me. "It's nothing you would want to deal with right now." She did that when she was trying to protect me. Like the time she backed over a stray dog and paid the neighbor not to tell me. She thinks I'm sensitive, that I can't let things go.

I'm no scholar, but when I met Melinda, I learned two new words. Commitment and malignant. Melinda found out a year before I met her that she was dying, but on our first date, I didn't care. I should have realized the strain that could put on me, but I could only think of the electric spark I felt when she touched my hand.

The same electric spark I felt when the transfusion started. The same spark that was missing when I touched her skin this morning. She was cold. Melinda may have been the intellectual, but I'm not stupid either. For once, the hippy stuff that I know annoyed her is finally coming to use. I had to buy a few books I wouldn't typically be comfortable having, but no amount of meditation was going to get the job done this time.

When she opened her eyes, she screamed. I knew the tumors had spread, but she shouldn't be in pain for too long, I maxed out my credit card on Rose Quartz. Who's being the sensitive one this time? It took time for all of her functions to catch up, as the book had mentioned. It's been two weeks and she still hasn't regained her intelligence yet. She drools and messes herself, but I'm still willing to wait. Commitment. This morning, she formed real words.

"Please stop."

And

"It's over."

[talesofstatic]

My husband from the future has contacted me

I know that sounds crazy, I thought so too at first. He messaged me on Facebook at 2 a.m. on a Wednesday, which is the typical time for international creepers to message because they saw me comment on a public 30+ Virgos page. I almost ignored it. He sent three messages before I decided to respond.

"Jaime, it's David."

"I really need you to talk to me, it's important."

"I know I don't seem familiar, but I'm your husband. Your middle name is Ann, your favorite show is Grey's Anatomy, you have a cat named Roger. Please talk to me."

It was all that personal info that lured me in. I'm not naive to the fact that stalkers exist, but I know I'm not an exceptionally interesting person. I don't make much money, I consider myself average looking, I live alone. Except Roger, of course. So I took the bait. At first, he told me that he loved me and he missed me. That in his time, the year 2024, he'd been drafted into military and hasn't seen me in six months. He was afraid he'd never see me again, and that's why he was contacting me. After that, he told me his phone was dying and that we'd need to meet up in person. I was so appalled at the idea that I threw my phone down. Whatever sick game he was playing, I quit. A few minutes later, he sent the address to my favorite coffee shop, and a full picture of himself. A skinny man with hair shaggy enough to sit on top of his glasses. Despite being about my age, he was still battling acne and dandruff. He must've been more attractive when I said yes to his proposal.

I met him at the coffee shop this afternoon. He was very excited to see me, but he seemed kind of jittery and nervous. When we sat down, he insisted on holding my hands in his while he explained. He told me the story of the war that began in 2021, he didn't really recall who started it, but he knew that it escalated quickly and the government instated what they called the Human Autonomy clause, making legal marriage no longer attainable. Apparently he and I met in 2020 and had been saving for a wedding when that clause was put into effect, so we didn't get a license in time. The clause made drafting easier, he assumed.

After he finished his story, he went quiet for a long time and I finally noticed he was shaking. I tried to ask him how he traveled back in time, but he cut me off to tell me he had some important questions for me first. He asked how many men I'd slept with. He asked if I had any male roommates or friends or close co-workers. He asked me if I wear makeup everyday. He said it was important because he needed to be sure he hadn't disrupted the timeline by coming here, and he trailed off, glancing at his phone. Then he abruptly stood up, nearly dragging me with him. He needed to buy me a dress. That we needed to do it right.

I'm sitting at the front of the department store while he chooses a dress. His phone is buzzing next to me. I'm typically against invading other people's privacy, but as his wife, I have a right. Right? It's all notifications from a forum called ConCel, and all of these people are cheering him on.

"You're going to be a legend!"

"You're an inspiration to all of us!"

"If you do this, it completely changes the game for ConCels everywhere. You got this!"

David is coming back wearing an ill fitting suit.

He's chosen pink for me. I've always hated pink.

[talesofstatic]

Hedgehog, or maybe groundhog?

I'm not a time traveller.

I honestly wish that were the case, but it's not. If I could travel directly to a point in time, I could figure out what's causing this. Instead, I'm living in repetition. Not reincarnation but my own life over and over. We all are. I don't know how long it took me to figure this out, how many times I went around the cycle before the deja vu was too much to ignore. Like I'm missing my turn for the exit.

If I don't change anything, the cycle stays on track, the same every time. No one else remembers. I've tried talking to everyone that's close to me and no one knows. I'd be worried that they think I'm crazy, but it feels like the world is generally inclined to remain in that same cycle unless something major disrupts it. I learned that the first time I killed someone. I don't remember it well, but I know during one of the earlier cycles, I had a psychotic break and I killed someone. Someone crucial to the story. After that, everything went haywire, I lost my home, my family, everything.

Which would make sense if I'd gotten caught. Instead, it was almost as if I had just taken on the worst streak of bad luck ever. Within the week, I was alone, bleeding out in the street sans wallet and shoes. The next cycle was much clearer. That cycle was the first time I ever killed myself. I made it to the age of 14 before I couldn't stand that burning feeling of having done all of this before. I slit my wrists like some kind of jaded hero and watched the ceiling fan. That was the first time I saw reality falter. I think it wasn't ready for what I was doing and it cracked. I mean this literally, it looked like my vision was made of glass under too much pressure. I tried this more than once, but could only see the crack in instances where I died slowly enough to catch it just before the transition.

After that, the cycles went smoothly. I stopped experimenting because honestly, dying slowly hurts. In those last few moments, I'm always cold and I'm always alone. At least when I go the way I'm meant to, I'm not alone. None of us feel alone. We all go together. When I realized that, I wondered if someone is at the center of this, that if the right person died, that the cycle would end. But it doesn't, I've killed everyone. The only death that starts it over is mine. Am I the catalyst, or is it my perception?

I can't help but feel like it's going to cycle until I get the right answer. I'm doing something wrong. I'm reaching out for the smallest hint, I'm afraid. I don't want to see it again.

We all go together, but there's just so much blood.

I can't save us.

[talesofstatic]

Baby Blues [Horror]

Charlotte hadn't been the same since the stillbirth. Gregory, named after his grandfather, would have been her and Tom's first child. Tom was an accountant and Charlotte had been a receptionist at the library until her sixth month of pregnancy when she put all of her focus into preparing for motherhood.

The couple had planned everything flawlessly, down to the long blue curtains that would serve as a cruel reminder of what could have been. In her saddest moments, she would sit in the doorway of Gregory's room and watch the wind blow those curtains over the crib. She thought it symbolic. Perhaps seeing that empty crib would be too painful, that fate was finally sparing her further grief.

Charlotte wandered the halls of a too quiet house as she struggled to remember if she and Tom had come to a decision on Gregory's burial. She struggled to remember a lot of things these days, but she'd read that memory loss was a symptom of post partum depression and of grieving the loss of a child. Before Charlotte conceived, she'd only known PPD from soap opera's where mothers would drown their babies, but by the time Gregory was due, she'd read every pregnancy and birthing book at her library. Some even twice.

She knew Tom would be able to help her remember once he got home from his week long business trip, but what day was it? The calendar on the fridge read Wednesday, the day before he was due to return, and three weeks since they'd left the hospital. She idly wondered where the calendar marker had gone as she strolled to the bedroom, her question answered by the writing on the mirror. It read "3:00 6:15 11:00 4:00" but she could not recall the significance of the numbers, though it was her handwriting. Tom would know.

In the meantime, she sat on the floor and gazed up at the numbers. Charlotte appreciated that she made lists, especially since her memory problems began two months before, but she wished her past self had been more diligent. Just then, she heard her name called from across the house.

Charlotte rushed to see Tom dragging his suitcase into the house.

"You're home early, is everything okay?"

Tom looked at his watch,

"I'm not early, it's Thursday. Are you feeling okay? You look thin."

Charlotte shrugged,

"I'm well, given the circumstances."

Tom smiled and gave her a peck on the cheek as he passed her into the hallway,

"Speaking of, where is my little man?"

Charlotte froze, tears threatening as her heart began to race,

"Tom that's not funny, why would you say that?"

An eternity later, Tom emerged from Gregory's room, crying and clutching the swaddled baby to his chest.

"Oh god Charlotte, he's cold."

This scene sparked a memory in Charlotte - the moment Tom got to hold Gregory for the first time. He had been crying. The baby had smiled at him.

This time, Gregory stared straight through him.

[talesofstatic]

Nostrum [Horror]

Robert had always known what he would do if he ever encountered a zombie. He'd seen enough movies to know exactly where each of those characters had failed and how he would succeed instead. Four days into what could be described as the apocalypse, none of that knowledge had helped him, as he found himself alone, unarmed, and cowering in a house that wasn't his own. This home in particular was his salvation for nearly 24 hours, as the owners had long since fled, leaving a few canned foods in their hurry. It wasn't an ideal existence, but it would suffice until help arrived.

Hearing what he thought were planes overhead, Robert stood behind one of the long curtains that covered the living room picture window. Typically, he made a point of staying away from doors and windows as a rule of preservation, but curiosity overtook him and he gently peeled the fabric back, peeking out onto the green summer lawn. In the distance, the planes dropped a fine mist over the city, and standing in the middle of the grass was a woman in a pale blue dress, her head tilted back as if she were letting the sun and the mist bathe over her face the way Robert wished he could. Robert stood there in shocked silence, unsure if he should guide her to safety or retreat further into the house.

Of all the media he'd digested, it was most unlucky that the type of creatures he would encounter weren't the slow and shambling undead. These were fast and carnivorous, as he would learn when the woman turned to meet his gaze, her face coated in dried blood. For a brief moment, Robert could see the void in her eyes where that shine of conscious thought should be. Instead, she stared through him as she sprinted forward, throwing herself through the glass. Robert fell backward, scrambling for anything he could use to hold her off.

When she freed herself from the more stubborn glass clinging to the pane, her dress was torn, her intestines falling haphazardly onto the carpet. Robert approached her with the fire iron and closed his eyes, imagining 6th grade softball as he swung. When he opened his eyes, her jaw hung torn from the hinge on the right, but she simply straightened her spine and went for him again, slowing her pace as her innards crowded her feet. Running for the front door, Robert crossed the yard and reached the street, looking desperately for somewhere to hide.

Just as he decided to go south, he heard screaming - human screaming - behind him, causing him to spin around. The woman in the dress knelt on the sidewalk, clutching her abdomen in one hand and her jaw in the other as she screamed. The light had returned to her eyes. Robert still wonders if the woman screamed from the pain of dying or because, in that moment, she remembered everything.

[talesofstatic]

Like Like You

So why did you try online dating? Me? Well, momma says that I am just too much for a man to handle all at once. A little too much hummingbird and a little too much Zooey Deschanel, if you know what I mean. I mean, I move a bit too fast for all these ideas to catch up with me. What ideas? I mean, the idea of ordering two milkshakes instead of one and having just that many children but I'm a little too much hummingbird again, sorry. I just move a bit too fast because you have the same name as- no, I'm not supposed to talk about that, keep it together.

Favorite color? I like magenta. I have three pairs of high-heels in magenta but I don't wear any of them anymore because heels don't wear well in the mud and all the land surrounding my house is mud which was MY idea. Makes it easier to keep your secrets and baby, I will be GREAT at keeping yours. Oh, I made it weird, you don't have to tell me any secrets. My momma always said secrets will rot your tongue at the base, but your tongue is fine where it is. Unless you don't want it to be.

But we can discuss that later do you have any hobbies? I am GREAT at puzzles I can finish any puzzle you put in front of me. Well, I mean the little cardboard piece ones. Momma said men will be the greatest puzzle you ever try to finish but I can tell from your picture that all your sides and corners are already where they're supposed to be. Momma says that it's just as fun to rip puzzles apart as it is it put them together but I know they never go back the way they started. I even tried that glue stuff but some pieces got broken so I had to start over. I don't have a garden anymore.

Did I tell you that I used to have a garden? Beeeeautiful! I had daisies in all the colors, I named each one. But momma said I need to start looking for a husband and there won't be any room for a garden will you help me with a new one? The magazines say that a successful marriage is built on similar interests are you afraid of the dark? I am. My house is surrounded by mud and you have his same name.

I'm sorry I'm crying, I just go too fast sometimes how many flashlights do you have? I have three when momma doesn't take them when she's angry with me she's gonna want to meet you. I promise not to tell her you made me cry.

She's gonna want to meet you.

Will you hold my hand?

Just for a little while?

[talesofstatic]

-31.2 [Horror]

Mom told me to get down under the dash. I thought we might be in trouble because I'm not supposed to sit in the front seat, and mom would always tell me to scrunch down in my seat if she saw a police car, but this time she was crying. She didn't tell me why she was sad before she got into the back and covered my new brother's carseat with her jacket. He's probably sleeping and she doesn't want him to wake up. It's real hard to make him go back to sleep.

I didn't ask her why she was sad before she left. We've been stuck in the tunnel for a long time now, the tunnel with all the lights where you can't see the sun. Mom said if you hold your breath all the way through, you win. I always win. But when the cars started slowing down and we had to stop, she told me to stop playing. That we'd play again on the way back. I was being good by waiting, so maybe we could get ice cream when she comes back. Maybe not though, mom doesn't like ice cream on cloudy days. It was pretty noisy outside the car, people were honking and yelling out their windows. At first they were yelling for the cars to move, but when the guy ran through telling people to hide from the rain, the people started sounding scared.

A woman ran past my window, screaming that she was burning and it woke my little brother. I wanted to give him his binky, but mom said not to move. It got louder and I kept hearing popping sounds like if a balloon had a man's voice. A police officer stopped right outside my window and yelled for everyone to do something, a word I don't know. Elevate. Evaluate. He heard my brother crying and he broke the car window, so I covered my eyes and got as small as I could under the dash. When I peeked, the man had left the door open and the carseat was empty.

I want my mom. The popping came up under the car and it was so loud that I had to cover my ears. I didn't have enough hands to cover my eyes when the skull person with the dripping off hair fell down on the front of the car. Someone nearby was yelling "acid" but that doesn't make sense because acid is just in video games.

Now the tunnel is quiet. I want my mom. I tried counting the lights, but they went out before I finished. It's dark and I need to get my brother, but I'm scared. I hear a snake outside and when I opened my car door, the weird colored water almost came in. I want my mom. I'm under the dash, closing my eyes and covering my ears but I can't stop smelling. It smells just like pennies and fire.

[talesofstatic]

Building the Nest [Horror]

Alice hadn't felt much pain when she pressed the box cutter into her skin, pushing until red creeped up onto the fresh new blade she'd purchased for this specific occasion. In a calculated motion, she placed the blade on the edge of the tub and submerged her arm. Through her teenage years, she'd talked about dying, but could never bear the idea of leaving her mom and younger siblings behind. Now that she had her own disgusting and cramped one bedroom apartment some hundred miles away, she was safe. She only wished that-

And like that, the room got cold and foggy, a sign to Alice that she was going to lose consciousness soon. She laid back and waited, closing her eyes against the harsh flourescent lights. The room was quiet save for the inconsistent drip from the faucet. At least until an unfamiliar voice broke the silence.

"Wishes. Three. Yours."

Alice opened her eyes but the room was dark, not that she felt threatened. What could be worse? So she responded.

"Only one."

The room got colder still.

"Live?"

Alice would have shaken her head if she had the strength in her to move.

"No. I want to go. I just..."

She sighed heavily, feeling as though the air was permanently leaving her lungs.

"I just don't want anyone to miss me."

────────

It took several weeks for anyone to notice. Alice's job wrote her off for job abandonment as part time cashiers often did. If it weren't for the late rent, it might have taken longer. When the apartment maintenance manager opened the front door, the stench was immediate. A smell he only recognized from the time a raccoon had gotten into an air conditioner and died. The police showed up immediately and several local news stations after.

The story hit the local news within the hour, and by the evening, the streaming site Alice's mother used to keep up on her eldest daughter's local news. Twenty seven missing individuals found dead in the bedroom of a single female college dropout. All seemingly homeless, no visible injuries, cause of death to be determined.

The news caster kept a tone of neutrality as she shared the story.

"Residents claim to know little to nothing about the suspect, assuming that she invited the victims into her home for a meal before they were killed. Victims have yet to be identified. More tonight at 10."

Alice's mother slammed her laptop closed, rushing to her phone in hopes that there was some misunderstanding. Alice's phone went straight to voicemail after sustaining a dead battery inside one of many police evidence bags.

If only her mother could know that she finally got what she wanted.

She wouldn't be missed.

[talesofstatic]

Flavor Text [Horror]

"My character is a human Zeromancer."

Jared tried to hand his character sheet across the table, but Michael wouldn't accept it.

"Dude, I told you that's not a real class. Pick something else."

"But I used the entry for an Evoker to fill out my sheet, why can't I just call it something else?"

Everyone began to exchange nervous glances as Michael became irritated. Michael's house was the only one big enough to run a game every week. Plus, he owned the books.

"Jared, why can't you just be something normal? Your idea is going to be overpowered and that's not fair to everyone else. I can't let you just crush everything in a room. And this class isn't in this edition. Jesus, it doesn't even exist."

Jared laid his sheet down on the table and pointed to the introductory information at the top,

"For one, we're starting at level 5. He can barely levitate heavy items at that stage. It's just like a gravity mage. For two, you're letting Bruce be a Psionic and THAT'S not in this edition either!"

"Yeah, but it's actually IN the books! What's your stupid obsession with this?"

Jared began to squeeze his dice bag nervously,

"It's not an obsession, you're just not being fair."

"It's my house, my books, and my rules! No stupid made up classes!"

Jared lowered his head and gritted his teeth, mumbling as if it wasn't meant for Michael to hear, though he obviously could,

"You're just letting him be a Psionic because you have a crush on his stupid sister."

Michael stood up abruptly, upending the metal folding chair behind him and grabbing Jared's dice bag out of his hands.

"You're not playing! Get out!"

Michael threw the bag at the wall and it exploded into a mess of dice and brightly colored dust.

"And don't ask my mom to take you home, she won't!"

Michael remained standing until Jared looked up, tears in his eyes and his hands balled into fists as if he was going to hit Michael. But instead of striking him, he stood up and yelled as loud as he could,

"FUCKING DUMBASS"

The whole room gasped, and the shelves in the walls creaked, throwing their contents onto the floor, shattering dozens of knick knacks. Stephanie's chair was the first to give way, throwing her to the floor where she began to cry, shaking as she struggled to lift herself up. The rest of the children followed suit, thrown to the ground as if the air itself was weighing them down.

Jared stood there, sniffing loudly whiled Michael screamed for his mother. Jared covered his eyes when the last of the weight came down, crushing the sound of Michael's pleas and everything else with it.

Jared didn't uncover his eyes until he made it out onto the front porch. He sat on the curb near the street and used his cell phone to dial home.

"Mom, I need you to pick me up."

[talesofstatic]

Spectator [Horror]

Jess hadn't aspired to becoming a mall rent-a-cop. As the 6th hour passed since she realized that she couldn't move, she began to believe that this may be her position forever. For 6 hours, she'd been sitting at her post, watching shoppers on the security monitors as they too stood frozen.

But as horrified as she was, she began to feel that tiny glimmer of hope when she saw movement on the 1st monitor - the main entrance to the food court. A person had entered the mall, thin in frame and probably male, though the monitoring system made it hard to tell. He walked with confidence, as if he knew exactly what he'd come to do. Maybe he knew how to fix this. Jess held her breath when the person moved away from one camera and toward another as he entered the shoe store and went to the back. When he returned, he carried several boxes, which began to diminish Jess' hope that they were saved. This was just a scrawny teenager taking advantage of a catastrophe.

The boy set his boxes down and nearly passed the women's clothing store before he did a double take, stopping to glance down the cashier's blouse. Jess lamented her inability to avert her gaze, as she expected the scene to become X rated, but instead, the boy moved on, toward the game store. He stopped and began to motion toward another person, seeming to be speaking to them. Then very suddenly, he brought his arm back and punched them in the face, sending them into a limp crumple on the floor.

For the first time, Jess realized that these people COULD be moved, and began to wonder if they could be taken somewhere safe, somewhere they wouldn't be effected. Then she realized she'd lost track of the boy, as he'd moved to a location she could only see if she could only change tabs on the computer. No such luck.

Before long, the boy was seen again, returning to his victim, this time with a long, unidentifiable object in his hand. One swing and the tile darkened around the befallen shopper, indicating the head trauma they'd sustained. Jess' heart raced, fearing what the boy would do when he found that the security bay was right next to customer service and fully accessible.

And as if answering her fears, the boy soon came into view, bloodied shirt and metal baseball bat in hand. Jess stared straight forward, anticipating the pain she hoped not to feel. The boy stood before her desk and dropped the bat, his eyes red like the lost children she often escorted to safety. Leaning against the counter, he sobbed.

"I'm sorry. I'm so scared. I didn't know they were real. I think he's dead. I don't know what to do."

In 6 hours, Jess had constantly wished she could move. This time, she only wished she could rest a hand on the boy's shoulder.

Jess was scared too.

[talesofstatic]

Dysphagia [Horror]

I’ve always been a bit of a health nut.

I guess you could attribute it to my parents’ new age outlook on life, but my opinion on it is that your body is your only mode of transportation through life, so why not take good care of it? My body has taken me through high school track records, seven triathlons, countless marathons.

All except my last hike. My body got me only halfway up so I contacted my doctor, who I’d never met, and he suggested I may be at risk of a heart attack. “Just an aspirin a day”, he said. I don’t take pills. I barely know how, but after fighting my gag reflex, I got it down.

It got easier over the past couple of days, but tonight, something happened. It got stuck. Google said that’s normal, but the feeling of this pasty white crumble in my throat was making me nauseous and no amount of online MD assurance was going to keep me from vomiting.

I heaved and only produced bits of almond from lunch. I heaved again, only bile. This thing wouldn’t go down and wouldn’t come up. I reached back to touch it, but I couldn’t find it; I thought it was on the left, then it seemed to be on the right.

Good news though, I coughed it up. A little blood, but that’s not why I’m here.

I’m here to ask if aspirin has organic qualities.

Because it crawled away.