erotica
When I saw you reach towards the hot water faucet that always pours out blisteringly hot water and burns everyone, my mind raced ahead to tell you to be careful, but my words and hands were slow behind and they arrived just as the boiling water flowed over and scalded you. A thin line of banana-yellow energy shot through your fingertips and palms, and I watched it course over the nerves of your forearms before spiraling upward through your median. You jumped back. It seemed that for a time the soles of your shoes hovered, completely motionless, above the wet rug. Then you landed several seconds later and looked at me in shock; the light tan of your skin now a mottled, livid red. The quick hysteria in your eyes in the seconds before you cried out made me shake from head to toe. How could I stand to see you in pain like that?
Quickly I shut off the hot water and turned on the cold, letting icy well water lick over the burn, which spread over your knuckles in an ugly rash. My entire field of vision swam with redness, catching the heat from the open flame on the stovetop, the cardinal stitching on your sweater, the rosy sunlight streaming through our kitchen curtains, the beautiful redwood of the cutting board, the crimson of your lips where you’d bit them in pain, the crumbly brick wall lining one side of the room, and the oranges in the terra cotta fruit bowl just behind you. A light trail of blood burbled from my slit, ran down my inner thighs, and pooled behind my knees.
After cooling your hands I gently daubed on a layer of antibiotic ointment, using light spreading motions that barely ruffled the damaged epidermis, and sang you in a shushed alto: Coo, coo, my love, my love/Your chaos is nothing but mine/Once we were blooming dancing stars/Tonight we are but specks of spines.
It seems that the application of ointment was insufficient and did not soothe your aching skin in time. Within hours the ravaged skin had begun to peel back, exposing dense layers of purpling flesh. I felt the life energy within you begin to seep out through these tears--it left quickly at first, going in spurts and departing, then slowly, with the tiny dust motes of your remaining vigor painfully expelling themselves out of the room. By seven o’clock in the night you were dead in my arms.
Having never before disposed of a body, I sat very still beneath you and took walks down various avenues of action before deciding upon one. I was uncertain of how policemen or coroners would treat your body; they could not know your worth. You remember that normally I am weak of arms. On this evening, though, I felt an easy potency while slinging you about my neck and getting to my feet.
“Of course we will bury in private.” The trash chute extended below me for over a hundred vertical feet of filthy darkness. Wrangling your appendages past the quadrangular opening took patience, but soon you were resting, perfectly positioned, and balanced with your spine on the door of the chute and your head braced up towards the fluorescent lights of the fifteenth floor garbage and recycling center. With your arms bunched up about your neck that way you looked as though you were excitedly bracing yourself for a ride down a water slide.
In the days before your death you had zealously clung on to atheism as though it were the last raft of discipline on Earth. And I, in my mystical wanderings and eco-babble had still not come to any conclusions. This is why I said no verbiage of ritual when I gave your crown a gentle shove and watched as momentum crept over you and gravity swallowed you up. There were sounds of bumping and thumping before you landed in the dumpster below.
In the morning I woke from dreams and looked for you to cuddle me, as you have always cuddled me each morning, wrapping long arms of warmth around my full, naked morning skin. Soon I remembered. Suddenly and without warning, the pain and incomprehension of not having you became unbearable. I dashed out of bed, tripping on the sheets and banging my shins against the iron legs of the frame. A shriek of anguish reverberated through the laminate flooring of the hallway as I sprinted to the garbage chute, poked my head in, and screamed your name.
I heard nothing in response. I heard nothing at all except for heavily recirculated air, shoving past me in thick, unnatural breezes, gulping towards the ceiling vent. There was not one thing left to do now but to clamber down there myself. The mucky metal cut up my calves where it was chipped and dented, and just the effort of climbing in there left ruby-red strike marks on my palms. The chute seemed to be even narrower than yesterday. In leaning back I miscalculated and scraped my head on the lid.
The fall seemed to take minutes, leaving plenty of time for short-form fantasies-- I was Alice, dropping down a rabbit hole, or an atom bomb plummeting towards the earth, pregnant with possibility. You were kind enough to cushion my landing, and I recognized the length of your limbs at once. “THERE YOU ARE!” I giggled, and gave you a giant’s hug. My, it was extremely dark.
We sat together in silence and I waited for my eyes to adjust. Slowly things came into focus. Your lips, still perfectly formed, were puckered in an expression I didn’t understand. I kissed you to find out more. The taste was mildly minty, I think, and a little gross. I thought to myself that I kind of liked it, well, just that I liked you. I began to clean you off as best I could. Leaking soda cans, discarded mail and oily paper towels had already piled up around you, and the stench was overpowering.
That is the story of how we two came to be here, you, my love, and I.
Though you are no longer the banana-yellow authority you once were, I am satisfied to be immediately by your side. I expect to remain down here for quite some time.
Quickly I shut off the hot water and turned on the cold, letting icy well water lick over the burn, which spread over your knuckles in an ugly rash. My entire field of vision swam with redness, catching the heat from the open flame on the stovetop, the cardinal stitching on your sweater, the rosy sunlight streaming through our kitchen curtains, the beautiful redwood of the cutting board, the crimson of your lips where you’d bit them in pain, the crumbly brick wall lining one side of the room, and the oranges in the terra cotta fruit bowl just behind you. A light trail of blood burbled from my slit, ran down my inner thighs, and pooled behind my knees.
After cooling your hands I gently daubed on a layer of antibiotic ointment, using light spreading motions that barely ruffled the damaged epidermis, and sang you in a shushed alto: Coo, coo, my love, my love/Your chaos is nothing but mine/Once we were blooming dancing stars/Tonight we are but specks of spines.
It seems that the application of ointment was insufficient and did not soothe your aching skin in time. Within hours the ravaged skin had begun to peel back, exposing dense layers of purpling flesh. I felt the life energy within you begin to seep out through these tears--it left quickly at first, going in spurts and departing, then slowly, with the tiny dust motes of your remaining vigor painfully expelling themselves out of the room. By seven o’clock in the night you were dead in my arms.
Having never before disposed of a body, I sat very still beneath you and took walks down various avenues of action before deciding upon one. I was uncertain of how policemen or coroners would treat your body; they could not know your worth. You remember that normally I am weak of arms. On this evening, though, I felt an easy potency while slinging you about my neck and getting to my feet.
“Of course we will bury in private.” The trash chute extended below me for over a hundred vertical feet of filthy darkness. Wrangling your appendages past the quadrangular opening took patience, but soon you were resting, perfectly positioned, and balanced with your spine on the door of the chute and your head braced up towards the fluorescent lights of the fifteenth floor garbage and recycling center. With your arms bunched up about your neck that way you looked as though you were excitedly bracing yourself for a ride down a water slide.
In the days before your death you had zealously clung on to atheism as though it were the last raft of discipline on Earth. And I, in my mystical wanderings and eco-babble had still not come to any conclusions. This is why I said no verbiage of ritual when I gave your crown a gentle shove and watched as momentum crept over you and gravity swallowed you up. There were sounds of bumping and thumping before you landed in the dumpster below.
In the morning I woke from dreams and looked for you to cuddle me, as you have always cuddled me each morning, wrapping long arms of warmth around my full, naked morning skin. Soon I remembered. Suddenly and without warning, the pain and incomprehension of not having you became unbearable. I dashed out of bed, tripping on the sheets and banging my shins against the iron legs of the frame. A shriek of anguish reverberated through the laminate flooring of the hallway as I sprinted to the garbage chute, poked my head in, and screamed your name.
I heard nothing in response. I heard nothing at all except for heavily recirculated air, shoving past me in thick, unnatural breezes, gulping towards the ceiling vent. There was not one thing left to do now but to clamber down there myself. The mucky metal cut up my calves where it was chipped and dented, and just the effort of climbing in there left ruby-red strike marks on my palms. The chute seemed to be even narrower than yesterday. In leaning back I miscalculated and scraped my head on the lid.
The fall seemed to take minutes, leaving plenty of time for short-form fantasies-- I was Alice, dropping down a rabbit hole, or an atom bomb plummeting towards the earth, pregnant with possibility. You were kind enough to cushion my landing, and I recognized the length of your limbs at once. “THERE YOU ARE!” I giggled, and gave you a giant’s hug. My, it was extremely dark.
We sat together in silence and I waited for my eyes to adjust. Slowly things came into focus. Your lips, still perfectly formed, were puckered in an expression I didn’t understand. I kissed you to find out more. The taste was mildly minty, I think, and a little gross. I thought to myself that I kind of liked it, well, just that I liked you. I began to clean you off as best I could. Leaking soda cans, discarded mail and oily paper towels had already piled up around you, and the stench was overpowering.
That is the story of how we two came to be here, you, my love, and I.
Though you are no longer the banana-yellow authority you once were, I am satisfied to be immediately by your side. I expect to remain down here for quite some time.