Chlorophyll Skin

After a lifetime of shuddering under the weight of war, the last day of Salome’s worldly life oozed with banality. She had spent the morning knee deep in the dirt, tending the stubborn pepper plants that grew under the shadowed eaves of her home. She sighed, unfazed, as the shadow of her death crept up the sweaty arch of her back, now aged and screaming under the strain of simple work.

“Not now,” she said to the shadow.

THEY’RE COMING, DEAREST.

“Let them. I’m busy.” And she was. This small home was barely fit for one, yet until eight months ago had happily housed two people. Now there was only one aging body for two people’s chores. Salome struggled most with the garden, but Cece had loved it, and she had loved Cece, so here she was.

YOU NEEDN’T BOTHER WITH IT NOW. YOU KNOW HOW SIMPLE A TASK IT IS. WELL, FOR ME, ANYWAY.

Salome ignored this. She preferred the hands to dirt approach. It made sense to her. She could appreciate it. A bright, lime-colored vine snaked along the soles of her boots, to which she shook away with a huff.

“I wish you’d stop doing that.”

WOULD YOU LOOK AT ME PLEASE?

That voice—she hated that fucking voice. It wasn’t Cece’s voice, but a strangled megaphone version of it that played Salome’s bones like a tuning fork. Even then, she couldn’t refuse it, despite knowing what she would see.

It was Cece, but not Cece. It was the thing she had become. Vines lurched over her form, vines where vines shouldn’t be. The aridness of their small patch of land didn’t beget many plants like this, but here they were anyway. And here was Cece slathered in them, made of them. Vines snapped to the only parts of her that remained—her bones. They built her up again from dust. Where her cheeks had blushed under the soft lamp at their bedside was now only vines. The lacy tenderness of her fingers were vines. Her frizzy mop of hair, graying in thick bands like a crown now lay smooth and contained because it was made of vines.

And her eyes were gone, a vacant flatness where they should have been. As if no eyes had ever been there at all. As if Salome had never caught them gazing at her out of her peripherals, wrinkling in delight as Sal struggled with the shoelaces of her boots.

Eyes or no, Cece measured Sal carefully, taking in the sight of her with a solemn tut.

YOU’VE BEEN ALONE OUT HERE TOO LONG, BELOVED.

“I’m not the one that left.”

I NEVER LEFT, AND YOU KNOW THAT.

She did know it. Sal felt Cece everywhere, even if she couldn’t see her. She felt her when she woke up in the mornings and when she knelt in the dirt, struggling to keep a dying garden alive for just one more day. The Mother Wars had destroyed everything—her hometown, her life, Mother Earth itself (hence the colloquialism)—forcing her and Cece to flee to this nothing existence in the middle of nowhere. There were safer spots, places with more resources and water and people and clothes and everything, but not even the end of times could quell an ignorant asshole’s need to proselytize them sluts and whores and sinners. People were literally dying in the streets, but it didn’t matter.

Sal didn’t mind the solitude quite as much as Cece. In fact, it suited her. Her entire life had been loud. Everything went to shit after the polar caps melted. Those with money built their gilded fortresses, the nation militarized against its own people for “the sake of the nation and preservation our precious resources”—precious resources being the wealthy that hoarded enough on their own to not need any help. It was all terribly predictable. The weak and the poor would suffer and die, and the wealthy would slowly exhaust their stores and die as well, just a few generations later.

But then they came. The Sirens. They burst through the weakest seams of the Earth, bringing their sulfurous wrath with them. People began vanishing—not just any people, but powerful people. Vines clamored over the salted and dead wasteland that had become their Earth, luring people to their doom. That was twenty years ago.

That, also, was the start of what would become the Mother Wars. It was a war humans were doomed to lose. And now Cece had switched sides, shedding her frail and delicate humanness for a new coat of vines.

IT’S STILL ME, SAL.

“I’m not going to argue with you. There’s no point to it.” Simple conversations were difficult, let alone an argument. Last time it came to that Cece’s voice soured Sal’s insides so ferociously that she nearly vomited on her own feet. Not because of what was said, but because of how she’d said it. A siren’s voice rang like a gong against the senses. It cracked the sky in two.

I DON’T WANT TO ARGUE. WE DON’T HAVE TIME ANYWAY.

“You’re right. We don’t.” And she turned back to her gardening.

Usually, this was when Cece would take her leave, but today she lingered. Sal knuckled the dirt, waiting for that moment of relief signaling her departure, but it never came. Not today.

She traced the baring limbs of her plants. The tenderness of them was gone, replaced by brittle, graying bones. Only one of them remained green at the base, the rest were long dead, but that didn’t stop her from fawning over them every morning. The stupidity of it struck her now, how desperate it was to cater to a dead thing.

“We might as well have some tea, if all you’re going to do is stand there and stare at me.”

YES. THAT SOUNDS NICE.

Sal tried to not think about everything, about Cece. About the war and death, but she couldn’t stop the raging thoughts pulsing alongside her own heartbeat. The war was part of her now, no matter how much she hated it. She couldn’t remember a time without the threat of it lingering over them, even long before the Sirens arrived. It was always there, on the fringes, begging to be called into existence.

“We wrecked the place,” she’d said to Cece over tea on one of the good days. Before Cece was too ill to leave the bed. “We fucking ruined it, and now we’re dying. We burned down our home both inside and out. What is left for us now?”

Cece had traced her finger over the lip of her mug, a gesture of silent disagreement.

“What?” Sal had asked.

Cece paused just long enough to curate her words. “Perhaps the sirens are Mother Earth’s weapon?”

“A weapon against humanity?”

“A weapon for humanity. Humanity, and everything else.”

Sal hadn’t wanted to argue with her then, nor did she now. Even if Cece was right, and the sirens were here to save humanity from itself, Sal wasn’t so sure that humans deserved it, and she couldn’t bring herself to say so to the love of her life. If anything, Cece was one of the few humans that did deserve rescue, and yet she was the one dying.

Shaking the past from her thoughts, Sal found Cece already inside the house by the time she stepped through the door. She hated when she did that, but instead of saying so, she lit the candle that would heat the kettle that would steep their tea. It was one of the few luxuries the two shared, as tea became more and more difficult to find that wasn’t laced or tainted or nothing more than dandelion weeds squeezed into a mesh bag. Sal enjoyed the ceremony of it more than the drink itself—after Cece left she considered throwing it all in the trash, but never could bring herself to do it. She supposed that this moment, right now, was why. She must have known they would end up at the table once again.

Neither spoke as the tea steeped. The air was ripe with its scent, the familiar earthiness of another world. A world not yet fucked to its core. Placing two mugs in the center of the table, Sal leaned back in her wicker chair, trying to ignore the hum of urgency vibrating off Cece.

IT’S BEEN A BEAT, HASN’T IT?

Vines swarmed over the table as Cece reached for her mug. Sal tried not to look at them.

HOW LONG, DO YOU THINK?

“You don’t know?”

TIME IS FICKLE WHEN YOU’RE LIKE THIS.

“Eight months,” Sal said, forcing the surge of emotions that accompanied the statement.

IS THAT ALL?

Sal stifled an instinctual snort. “Yes. That’s all.”

I DIDN’T MEAN IT THAT WAY.

“Then you shouldn’t have said it that way.” She searched her strange features for anything she might recognize—the birthmark on her knee shaped like a star (a drunk star, Sal would joke), the way she’d scrunch her nose like a mouse whenever she was bored or lost in thought, the untamed frizziness of her bedhead or lilting giggle at seemingly nothing or her soothing hum as she plucked and shaped and tended those stupid, dead plants just outside. The plants that had died even though Sal had done everything just the same. She searched for Cece’s quiet sigh as Sal worried over her progressing ailments, or her whimsical calm at the realization that she’d never recover from whatever illness plagued her.

Neither of them was certain of what was killing her, but as she skeletonized before their eyes, both understood what it meant.

And that’s when Cece started speaking to someone that Sal couldn’t see. Every time Sal asked who it was, she’d evade the question. “Oh nothing. No one. Sometimes it’s just nice to think out loud, you know?” But that wasn’t Cece. She never spoke without an audience or a purpose. Sal worried then—what she hallucinating? Was she deteriorating from the inside out?

Cece had asked her one night, towards the end, what she thought of the Sirens. It seemed to have come out of nowhere. Not that they hadn’t spoken of them before, but Cece’s decline obliterated the idea of thinking about anything but the inevitable, so that the question was jarring.

“I think they’re going to kill us all.”

“Do you though? Why would they come here just to kill us? And if so, why not do it right away? We all know that they could have.”

Sal had shrugged, irritated at having to defend herself. “How am I supposed to know how they think? No one even knows what they are exactly. All we do know for certain is that the people making the decisions about won’t rest until they’re all dead. Or we are. Somehow, I don’t think we are going to come out on top.”

“Then I say we need new people making decisions.”

“Yes, well…good luck with that dear.” Then she’d felt her head, recoiling at the new bloom of fever. She didn’t know then that this was the fever that would finally take her. If she had, she might have approached the conversation differently.

She definitely would have approached it differently.

Sal struggled to maintain eye contact with the new Cece, instead fiddling with the handle of her mug.

I MISS YOU, BELOVED.

“I miss you too.”

WE DON’T HAVE TO MISS EACH OTHER, YOU KNOW.

Cece crept a hand a little too close to Sal’s—she wrenched it away, stung. “Don’t.”

The only indicator of Cece’s hurt was a slight cock of her eyeless head.

YOU MUST LEAVE THIS HOUSE, SAL. IMMEDIATELY. YOU WON’T SURVIVE THE DAY IF YOU DON’T.

“Do tell then,” she said.

THEY’RE PLANNING TO CARPET BOMB THE ENTIRE AREA.

“Who? The Sirens?”

OF COURSE NOT.

“Why would anyone bother? There’s nothing out here but a dilapidated town, me, and some dying plants. Nothing worth the wasting of their precious artillery.”

THERE ARE OTHERS. MANY OTHERS.

“Who? What others?”

ME, FOR STARTERS. AND THE REST. ALL OF US, ACTUALLY.

“The sirens? You mean to tell me all of the Sirens are living in this little shit town?”

WHERE ONE IS, ALL ARE, AND THEY WANT US DEAD.

Sal sipped her tea, attempting to seem calmer than she was. Not that she held any hope of fooling Cece, still she tried. “What else is new?”

THEY’RE DESPERATE. THAT’S WHAT’S NEW.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

IT MEANS THEY’LL DO ANYTHING, FIRE ANYTHING, ON THE OFF-CHANCE IT MIGHT DESTROY US.

“And what do you mean by anything?”

Sal wasn’t sure Cece could convey annoyance in this form, but somehow, she managed. The flex of her fingers against her mug was enough.

USE YOUR IMAGINATION, DEAREST.

“What? Nukes? Surely the Sirens could survive it. I mean, look at you.”

YES, LOOK AT ME. ACTUALLY LOOK AT ME FOR ONCE.

Sal complied, doing her best not to wince. Cece’s body was alive—vines crawled across her body like maggots. Not even a fingernail was still—it was vines. Just vines and more vines, green and vibrant and inhuman.

NOT EVEN WE CAN SURVIVE IT. LOOK AT WHAT WE ARE?

“Then you’ll stop it. This can’t be the first time the beings-that-be have considered ending the world to save their reputations.”

IT’S NOT THE FIRST, BUT IT IS THE MOST ELABORATE. AND WE AREN’T SURE WE CAN PREVENT IT. NOT ALL OF IT.

“Then it’s an end. I’m not sure that’s a bad thing.”

Again, Cece squeezed the handle of her mug. She’d yet to take a drink. Sal wasn’t sure if she could.

YOU WOULD SPEAK WITH SUCH COLDNESS FOR YOUR FELLOW PEOPLE? YOU DON’T THINK THEY WANT TO LIVE?

The emotion was so swift that she didn’t realize that all the remained of her cup was the handle clutched in her white knuckled grip after she slammed her mug to the table. “My people? What have my people ever done but hate me for existing? Me and you! Us! Or have you forgotten?”

Cece didn’t react, but her voice instantly congealed.

I HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN. BUT EVERY TIME I FEEL THE MEMORIES THREATENING TO ROT MY CORE, I REMEMBER YOU. YOU ARE PEOPLE. I AM PEOPLE. WE ARE HUMAN TOO, AND WE DESERVE TO BE SAVED. TO BE HAPPY.

“You are anything but human, Cece.” Rage piqued her words. They erupted in a spat.

OH NO? YOU DON’T THINK I’M HUMAN? I MUST BE GRAVELY MISTAKEN AS TO WHAT IT MEANS TO BE HUMAN THEN. WHY DON’T YOU ENLIGHTEN ME, SALOME?

Calling Sal by her full name was the ultimate slight. Only coming from Cece’s lips could her name evoke such discomfort. Sal may have thought that was the end of their conversation, but instead of sparing her this one insult, Cece instead rose from her seat, chair flinging against the wall under the strain of her new power and shed her vines. They peeled away from her, whipping off her in a frenzy. It took only seconds to reveal what was underneath, something Sal had only dreamt of, had nightmares of, the deathly visage of her only love. She didn’t even catch her own voice, the wretched screaming pouring from her lips as Cece devolved into all that was left of her—the real her.

When it was all said and done, Cece was still a corpse. Nothing but bones; a skeleton. Vines writhed in a pile at her feet, shed like loose clothing in a fit of passion

ARE THESE NOT HUMAN BONES, DEAREST? HOW MUCH OF MY BODY MUST I SACRIFICE TO PLEASE OTHERS? HOW MUCH DO YOU WANT? WOULD YOU LIKE MY JAW SO THAT I I’LL STOP SPEAKING? OR MY FEMUR SO I’LL STOP WALKING? WHAT ELSE IS NEEDED TO PROVE MY HUMANITY TO YOU? TAKE YOUR PICK SAL. HOW MUCH OF ME IS NEEDED TO PROVE I’M JUST LIKE YOU?

Vines leapt into action, haloing her figure as if ready to strike. Sal scrambled away from her, tripping on her own feet and landing against the opposite wall. The cozy space had now become claustrophobic. She couldn’t breathe. She glared at the thing that was Cece. She wanted to scream at it, lash out at it. She wanted her to leave and never come back, finally allow her the space to grieve the loss that had consumed her—and that’s when she spotted it.

She saw the break in Cece’s arm. It was still there. How slight it seemed now. Such a small inconvenience in the scheme of things, but at the time (oh, they were so young then) Cece had wailed in pain. To date it had been the worst thing to have ever happened to her. She hated to be waited on, hated to be a burden, but Sal had reveled in caring for her. They were still in the city then. Still good “friends” and nothing more. Still unsure of everything and anything. Cece had punched a dude in the jaw for grabbing her ass at a bar, and he’d pushed her into the counter. The bartender called the cops and the dude fled, but not without Cece hot on his trail, stumbling into the allies in furious pursuit. She’d tripped over a trash can and broken her arm.

The scent of that night floored her, remembering it as vividly as it had happened twenty years ago. The rage of the evening, the indigence of it. Sal could still see the sheen of Cece’s forehead, the way it wrinkled when she tried to move her arm. She remembered the sidelong glances of the nurses at the hospital as the tossed her arm in a sling and sent them on their way. No insurance, no cast. It hadn’t ever healed correctly. It remained stiff even years later, and if she pressed exactly right, she could feel a lump where the bone had thickened in a sloppy attempt to repair the break.

And there it was now. Still lumpy and misshapen. She was still Cece. An angry Cece, but still Cece. “You know,” Sal said, carefully selecting her words. “You’d think you’d have fixed that by now.”

Cece followed the point of Sal’s index finger, almost incredulous at the interruption to her fury. Or that’s how Sal imagined it, considering her skeleton could only convey so much emotion.

IT’S HEALED JUST FINE ON ITS OWN, I’D SAY.

Sal wanted to reach for her, to grab the bone that brought them together and feel it once more. Despite her wish mere seconds ago for Cece to leave, she now wanted nothing more than to lunge for her, to weave herself through the bones and never let go. But it was then that the ground began to shake. Violently. Suddenly. Aggressively.

Catching herself against the wall, she watched Cece for any indication that she understood what the fuck was happening, but she’d lowered her chin towards her feet, gaping at something Sal couldn’t see.

“Fuck! Are the already bombing us?”

Without lifting her head, Cece answered simply.

NO, BUT STILL WE ARE OUT OF TIME.

Sal was so enamored with her wife that she hadn’t noticed the throng of vines wriggling under the edges of their home, raising it from the foundation as simply as it was made of straw. A greenery Sal hadn’t witnessed since childhood erupted in the center of the room—Cece directed her vines towards Sal, snatching up her body in a loose cocoon as the floor fell away into a rippling sinkhole growing at their feet.

A dark settled over them both as a forest of unnatural beauty blotted out the sun. They were surrounded, she and Cece, and they were no longer alone.

Sal felt them before she saw them. It was the same timbre that signaled Cece’s arrival all those times, but stronger. Sal writhed uncomfortably under the pressure, itching to get out of the room, to run, to be free of whatever power pulled her skin in every direction.

I WON’T FORCE YOU TO DO ANYTHING.

It took Sal more than a moment to realize that Cece was speaking directly to her, as if the others had never come.

IF YOU ARE READY TO GO, THEN I WON’T STOP YOU. I’D NEVER DO SUCH A THING TO YOU. BUT WE ARE AT AN END, BELOVED, ONE WAY OR ANOTHER. AN END FOR BOTH OF US.

“Cece?” she asked. The surrounding plants shivered as she spoke, hundreds of eyeless faces barely visible amongst the foliage.

I KNOW HOW TIRED YOU ARE. YOUR HEART IS MORE FRAGILE THAN EVEN YOU KNOW. I JUST…I HAD TO ASK.

Only then did Sal understand what she was saying. Every emotion she’d ever locked up and buried, all them erupted in a string of sobs she didn’t dare try to slow. She couldn’t stop even if she wanted to. All the pain and grief of losing, but not quite losing Cece, the only person that ever mattered in her entire, shitty existence, poured from her so that she couldn’t speak to answer. There was only one thing she’d ever wanted, and that was Cece. She never dared to want anything more. It was just her.

Sal had been furious that Cece had left. That she had changed. That she had finally ascended beyond Sal and left her behind. Sal, still, was so frightened that Cece would change her mind about her.

“I can’t be one of you,” she said finally. Vines tightened around her then released. An understanding was made. “I just want to be with you. That’s it. Wherever you are, I will go. That’s enough.”

Cece floated toward her, her natural grace only amplified in this new form. Vines peeled away from her arm as she extended it towards Salome, the misshapen bone at the forefront. The beginning and the end.

A beginning again.

Sal grabbed her, and Cece grabbed back. The embraced once more, again, and Sal gave in to desire. She melted into Cece, losing herself to the moment. She touched her face, where her lips used to be, feeling content as her own body dissolved.

She’d understood what she was agreeing to—not to be one of them, but to be with them. Another knot amongst the vine, a flower amongst the forest. Sal would do what she’d always done best—she’d watch and warn, she’d protect, she’d surround her love and keep her as safe as she possibly could.

They’d be together again, and they’d fight in their own ways.

Senses flickering to life, she was suddenly aware of them, the Sirens, Valkyries, Angels, or Demons. Her kin. They were everywhere—below, above, around. Thousands of them. Maybe more.

Still clinging to Cece, every chin turned up towards the sky in unison as missiles rang above their heads.

THEY’VE BEGUN.

Cece’s voice was gentler now that Sal was part of her, another vine to form her beautiful body.

AS WILL WE.

And they set off towards the skies together.