Fantasy
Apparition of Desires
I found myself in a recurring dream. The one where I’m naked. Not naked in the grocery store but naked at the dry cleaners. Everyone in line holding their ticket is shouting, me, me, me. Fully clothed and faceless with familiar voices. I recognized yours. It was that spring or maybe it was early summer when the mayflies were extreme. Blanketing the ground and buildings like snow, I had never seen so many. On the beach alone, you said you would never tire of how the moon lit the hair on the back of my head. In the dry cleaners I covered my privates so people wouldn't heckle and snicker at my shame. Next in line I began to unzip the zipper under my chin. Zipped down through my abdomen. Carefully under and down through to the inseam of my left leg. All the way down to my heel. I remove my flesh from its bones, like I was peeling off a onesie. How a mechanic releases himself at the end of a day from his coveralls. The blood coursing through my veins like neon. Lungs expanding and contracting with every breath in this space we share. You're here, I know you are, I can hear you. My skull and rib cage exposed, along with my spine and pelvis. The guts, muscles and organs revealed to the faceless standing in line. You're faceless but I can hear you. I hand the woman my suit of skin, asked for the one-hour service. She said the stain on the center of my chest may be hard to remove. I lied and said it was from coffee. Stood to the side exposing my innermost self. Waited in silence surrounded by the girth of rich men with rhino horns in their William Westmancott suits. This is where the dream really takes a turn. On the beach wading into the ocean. A whirlpool I couldn’t resist draws me in and under. The ceiling of my bedroom becomes the ocean. I look up from my bed, rays of light spear down penetrating the surface illuminating a hovering silhouette. I am that silhouette near the surface floating effortlessly looking down at myself sleeping below. I thought I saw you hovering above me, looking down at me, except it was my eyes inside of you looking down at me. Part of me seeing you and part of me seeing me through you. The mayflies cover me like skin. I don’t know if they’re protecting me or dying with me. Your voice is gone now. You’re nowhere in sight, I woke, a little feverish, a little not knowing. Not knowing for a moment where I am. I covered myself, my skin, it’s all here, dazed a little, I’m still complete.
By Gerry Thibeaultabout a month ago in Fiction
Almost Done
Gorman Reach had had enough. He couldn't remember how many times today he'd been knocked down and had his face pushed against something nobody would want their face pushed against. "It was more than once, I'll tell you that," he thought. And that was once more than he felt necessary. Gorman Reach is a ghoul and being such, doesn't feel pain in the same way a human does, but discomfort and humiliation are feelings universally shared. And right now, he was feeling an inordinate amount of both.
By Adam Diehlabout a month ago in Fiction
