Wordsmoker

Beneath a surface of lavender, I am wet.

My head remains drifting, a child of the tub. I have fallen asleap three times now. Bobbing up, I regret the air. I reach for my notes, then for my phone. I knock over a toothbrush and a dish that has been dirty for over a week. The entire night has been avoided. 

I had books to read. Some to return and some to pick up. Meetings to do and lazer tag with the staff at ten in the mall.

While I am still wet, I take a chewable vitamin C and rub onto my nose, then to the rest of my face. Down my neck, to the chest. It stings while revealing a rough texture. I realize I had cut my fingers throughout the week as the orange gets into skin. I wouldn’t have noticed otherwise.

I don’t bother with the little peices of lavender I am trailing over the floor. In my bed, it dries and tickles as it peels. I just want to get into my bed, even just for a quick nap.

The closet is still new to me. I have only been living here for two weeks. It is right behind the bed, behind the head. I hear something, a foot perhaps, hit the table I shoved into it earlier. I’d rather eat from the dirt of nothing, or like I’ve been accustomed the counter-tops of college. The table was a distraction, now barricaded away until I move out. No point. I’m already under the covers.

I hear another tap, perhaps an arm fallen out of place.

The room is warm. Things shift.

I’m still adrift.

Boundaries sort of came down. I can’t remember much of anything, and don’t feel much of a difference between the day or night. Unadjusted eyes at all times.

((I’m still new here)).

Voice from the closet: “Us”.

From resting my eyes, I clinch. I just want to be alone. I could sleep for months.

I can hear the friction of jeans and some fabric moving behind me. The sun hasn’t come up yet.

“I want to be alone” I say aloud.

The movement stops. Then, after a pause it begins again.

“Du du Du du Us Da da de Us Du du Us” A young woman’s voice begins to sing from the closet. ”Us us Da da de Us us us Du du du’h Us”

“I’m busy. Leave me alone” I say. “I need to get ready for work”.

“Ah Us ah Us Ah da da de Us”, the song is half serious. Half playful.

I hear the closet door slide part open, then the scraping of arms and legs to climb over the table I had turned over. I know there is enough of a hole to crawl through if someone were to get in there.

Crash to floor. Knocking over a box of text books. The singing stops, as the body probable went head first into the books.

I sit up and see the dark mound struggling to raise herself up.

“Look which one I picked for you in there!!” She swings her head up in a moan. “Look at this catch of meat, I got all for you My my … my dear”.

The company makes me want to puke, but I get up to take a look. I am hardly awake, myself. A closer look and I realize the face, the corpse, is someone I had worked with. I nicknamed her the Militant One. She didn’t like the nickname I had given her.

“How long has that thing, or you, been in there? I don’t want you here, your annoying. That face is the most annoying mistake the fucking gene pool ever fucked with” … I thought I’d never see her again. She was one of the popular rich small town girls (who think they are pretty) coincidently trickled into a masters program; divided by working hard and  the desire to one up the other girls.

“I knew you’d like it. It’s the MEAT I brought for you” She snears. She stumbles up to me, and lets me catch her with my flinch of how hideous I think this creature is. I probably flinched more out of disgust of the personality I was used to seeing. She presses the corpse’s weight up to me enough to touch the breasts. She swipes at the edges of her clothes and pulls. She’s teasing me.

“You hated her right?” (She was so easy) “I thought it’d be fun to watch her do whatever we wanted” She laughs so deeply, she runs out of breath beginning to gasp. She takes a step back to catch her breath.

“I couldn’t fucking care the fuck less.” I laugh, almost in a similar tone. I am surprised by my own voice.

“How do you do it?” She asks. “How do you ignore just about anything that tries; to be pretty, to be edible?”. The corpse walks past me, tripping over the clothes, to the dresser. She picks up a bananna amid the groceries I forgot to put away.

“So, your eating bananna’s now?”. She poses, and I notice she is wearing my favourite Emo pants.

“Don’t touch my banana. Give me my pants back, I stole those from my Ex”. “I like them”. 

Angry.

“Well, I guess I can still enjoy all the meat I brought for us” She says sadly. She slides off the pants, almost falling over, but doesn’t put the bananna down.

The Militant One’s legs albedo the morning light in the dark room. Smooth and pale.

“I’m trying to be Vegetarian again, don’t touch my banana.” 

“That is not what I meant” She says slowly, walking up to me with the banana in her hand. “Its for us, come here”.

“I suppose you won’t ever stop following me, will you?” 

**To be continued**