Help Me, Save Me.

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window.

The grimy wax base held a meek and wispy flame atop a singed wick, unfazed by the extent of the space it was intended to brighten and churning on with its own inferior will to exist. I felt compelled to reach my hand forward and snuff out the fickle thing. To watch the flame crumble into nothingness between my nimble fingers and embrace the sudden, plunging darkness. The pain would be fleeting with a light so insignificant. I knew that if I did it quickly, there wouldn’t be enough time to process if I were afraid. It was just there, within arms reach. Still, I allowed it to continue its taunting. I suppose a part of me wasn’t ready to be consumed by the shadows just yet.

With every subtle shift in the air around us, the flame would flicker excitedly and I couldn’t help but ponder its meaning. Did it shake from the panic of being extinguished? Was the quick flashing an alert or form of warning? A plea to keep burning? Or possibly a twisted boasting with the flame doing its final dance before it would leave me to suffer alone. I guess it depends on your own dispositions. And with every subtle shift in the air around us, I wondered what amount of prodding would be enough to do it; to send that flame and the energy it brought with it back into the world to be used in whatever form it was meant for next, and whether that final brush with the unseeable would be the last…

Seems I’ve lost track of time. I don’t know how long I’ve been here, staring at the idle glowing speck across from me, wallowing in its implications. The pale light cast a ghastly reflection of me on the window behind it that morphed and contorted with every flicker. It has been calling for my attention for a while now, beckoning me with its sudden, tantalizing movements. I chanced a look. I looked away, eyes downcast.

That fucking bitch. Fucking bitch. Fucking bitch.

Putting it there to tease me. In front of the window of all places, she wants them all to see me as someone who likes such things. The slick shaft, the heat coming out of the tip. It’s all an attempt for her to show the world that I like to suck cock. But He knows me and He will punish her and her wicked soul. For she cursed me in her womb just to turn the world against me. I know she had been practicing witchcraft since she was young, she practices still on me. Torment. She has been tormenting me for years. Coming into my room when I’m not there. 3:15pm. 5:13pm. Always at odd times. Figures. She places my laundry in the closet, folded in haphazard piles, accusing me of not being straight. Playing these games. And one day when she was in the kitchen, I saw her reach for my pocket like they do in prison. Always sending me these subliminal messages. I can see it.

Suddenly, the darkest corners of the room grew murkier. I could feel its presence in my peripherals, inching closer and closer like an angry, thunderous storm cloud. She’s found me again. She won’t leave me alone. On my way here, a man in a large, white van stopped me while I was walking sluggishly down a long stretch of road. Leaning on rough, tattooed arms out the driver’s side window, he asked me where I was heading and if I wanted a ride. A hot rage consumed me. Fucking bitch.

“tell Her that she is treachErous in the eyes of the Lord, Please.” I told the man before turning and walking away.

He quickly continued on the road, his tires marring the asphalt as he accelerated past me. She even has men following me. Tempting me. Why must I live in this hell under her scrutiny? She lies to my face, telling me that she wants to find help for me. That she is my mother and only wants what’s best for me. To nurture me from an anxious boy into a strong man like Father. But she gazes upon me with horror and fear every time my younger sisters would wake up to find more broken dolls and their prettiest dresses torn. She says I can’t stay there anymore. She wanted me gone. It was her plan all along.

I lunged forward manically with parallel, extended arms, stretching my fingers and grasping towards the candle to crush it to a million pieces as my body tipped forward on the moldy chair. The rough fibres of the noose tugged and chafed at the skin of my neck and I was seized by an immense pressure. I instinctively tried to regain my footing, but it was no use. I felt the edge of the chair press into the curve and skid over the skin of my heels before I swung wildly into the air.

My hands re-routed their direction to my neck and I clawed desperately at the rope dangling me from the roof of the cabin. The tangy scent of blood filled my nose as my nails bit through skin, the droplets wetting the fibres, but providing no relief to the itchy, prickling material. I could feel my eyes bulging to the point of bursting as my tongue flailed in my mouth and I choked on the inner walls of my esophagus. My brain was sending immediate signals to my heart to work harder in a desperate attempt to save me, but my heart and mind were unable to work synchronously with the tightly bound rope acting as a circuit breaker. Still, I kicked and writhed as the beams above creaked and groaned with the weight of me.

Suddenly, I had a funny thought. I’ve been kicking and flailing, writhing through the air, yet the flame still stands. It had flickered so wildly before, hinting at its expiry, and now it has somehow outlasted me. I guess the flame was stronger than I had originally thought. Who’s going to keep it alive when I’m gone?

How did I get here?

I fought to recall the moments before this with clenched teeth and spasms. She told me to put the candle by the window. If someone–anyone–passing by were to notice the dying light on the windowsill of the cabin, maybe they would peek inside.

Maybe they would see me.

Maybe they would save me.

But instead they sit huddled around a crackling inferno, their blaze evidently much grander than mine. Singing along to effeminate songs. Mocking me. Laughing at me. Telling ghost stories. Have you heard the one about the man in the dress who spontaneously snuffs out the campfire, loops a noose around your neck, and raises your body from the ground and into the hands of God?

Do you feel the air moving across your skin?

Are you watching the flames dance?

Look up.