flyxbyxnight

[flyxbyxnight]

Uh, Yeah. Basically

"haha go easy it's just a first draft!" except it's the single most important thing i've ever created in my entire life. if you make even one slightly neutral comment about it i will withdraw into a cave and never return to society. any feedback that does not amount to "omg yes this is incredible, it’s unlike anything else ever made, where is the sequel, this idea is sure to make you at least fifteen billion dollars" will reduce me to tears. but be honest tho

[flyxbyxnight]

The Forsaken

( The short first chapter of a project that went absolutely nowhere)

Chapter One- Sermon

And this shall be the plague where with the Lord will smite all the people that have fought against Jerulsalem; Their flesh shall consume away while they stand on their feet, and their eyes shall consume away in their holes, and their tongue shall consume away in their mouth. 

– Zechariah 14:12. KJV

We are God’s chosen people; Tasked with restoring the world to be suitable for God himself to inhabit. Our prophet, Japheth, founded the town of Jerusalem after the Plague of Rotting Flesh  descended upon the whole of the Earth thirty years ago. It was he alone who brought us to the promised land; the land where we would live safely spared from the wrath of God. We are the last of humanity. I often wonder what is so special about me that God himself would handpick me to be a part of such an important mission. I can’t even stay awake during church half the time. “Dinah!” Mama hissed as she jabbed her elbow into my ribs. “Wake up! The prophet is speaking!” I shook the exhaustion from my head before looking around to see if anyone noticed. Two rows behind me I saw Nathan snicker, his mossy green eyes fixed on me beneath his long brown lashes. I stuck my tongue out at him, prompting another swift jab from my mothers elbow. The prophet continued, his words becoming like a foreign language against my ears as I struggled to focus. I love my prophet, but holy cow is he boring sometimes. Like, we get it– If we don’t follow his rule to perfection we will be cast out among the rotters. Forsaken by the church; Forsaken by God himself. Service ended and we all stood, bowing our heads as we said our dismissal prayer. “ Bless thee oh Lord your land of Jerusalem. Bless our Prophet for whom we are privileged to follow in your stead, Blessed be the–” I could feel Nathan’s gaze against my back, and I turned my head to see. As soon as I did he turned his eyes down and resumed praying, peeking at me beneath his lashes ever so often as a bashful smirk pulled at the corner of his full, petal- like lips. My face flushed and my mothers nudges turned into sharp pinches against my forearm. “Ow!” I jumped. “SHH!” She was fed up with me now, and I knew I’d get the strap as soon as we got home. My gaze drifted up toward the podium, and my heart fell to my feet as I looked directly into the eyes of the prophet. I quickly bowed my head, and finished the prayer with a quiet “Amen…” 

Japheth was the first to walk out of the church doors, standing there at the exit just as he did after every service to greet each member of the congregation. With every step my family and I took toward the doors, I could feel the anxious prickle in the back of my throat grow more and more intense. Was he going to say something? I was already going to be punished for disrupting church. I can’t imagine what would happen to me if my parents found out that the prophet caught me making goo-goo eyes at a boy in church. I wiped my clammy hands on my skirt and swallowed thickly as my dad took the prophets hand, expecting him to bring my conduct to attention. Japheth smiled, as he always did with his crooked, yellowing teeth. Again, I love my prophet, but I always thought he was a terribly ugly man; His graying black hair quaffed on top of his head like some sort of hornets nest, his sickly slim figure, his enormous feet that would almost put one in mind of duck flippers, and his peeked face with pointed features. The man is in his late fifties, but I doubt he looked any better in his youth. “Miss Dinah, is something wrong?” asked the Prophet. I shook the grimace from my face and answered “N-No, dear Prophet.” He smiled down at me and took my hand in his before cupping it between both. “You’re growing into a beautiful woman, Dinah. How old are you now?” he asked. “Fifteen,” I replied. “My Goodness, marrying age–” He turns to my father, still holding my hand between his. “Tell me Caleb, is there a reason why you haven’t brought Dinah before me to be matched?” My father hesitated, clearly discomforted by the notion. “Yes, well,” he stammered before clearing his throat. “Dinah is still so immature, dear Prophet. My wife and I agreed that perhaps she isn’t ready.” “Ah. I see. So you and Rachel know better than your prophet?...You know better than God?” my father stiffened, visibly shaken. “No, dear Prophet, not at all!”  Japheth smiled and patted my hand before releasing me. “Good, Then I will expect you to have her delivered to me by daybreak tomorrow to be matched.” My parents answered in unison, “Yes, dear Prophet…” My anxiety instantly changed to excitement. God must’ve told the Prophet during the sermon that Nathan and I belong together, that we’re destined to be! I stifled a small squeal that welled up in my chest. My parents didn’t seem nearly as pleased as we walked down the dirt road leading to our small humble home by the East gate. They didn’t speak, just exchanged concerned looks with one another. My father gently squeezed my mothers hand. I know they believe I’m too child-like for marriage, but many girls in the town even younger than I are already married with children of their own; Fourteen, even thirteen years old. I know if they can handle their duties then surely I can. As our dear Prophet says– “ There is strength in our numbers, and each child brought to Jerusalem is bound for God’s greater purpose.” 

A terrible thought entered my mind… What if my parents are afraid that I’ll be barren like Mother? My very birth was one of God’s miracles. Father said she fasted for days, spent long hours on her knees in prayer before finally consulting the Prophet for help. I’m not worried. I know in my heart that Nathan and I will be fine. All I have to do is let my burdens rest on God, he will handle everything. My mother and father quietly went upstairs to their room, shutting the door behind them. I assume they're discussing their worries about my upcoming nuptials. Just then, I heard a slight rapping at the kitchen window, I hurried over. No one was there, but there was a piece of paper folded and tucked against the sill. 

Meet me by the gate after evening prayer – Nathan 

[flyxbyxnight]

She

She can’t say the words, but I can see them in her eyes. 

Her heart holds an ocean of secrets; pain lurking in the depths below. 

I want to protect her, spare her from the hurt that’s yet to surface. 

And even in her brokenness her radiance shines through the cracks; illuminating the shadows, and revealing the most hidden parts of me. 

[flyxbyxnight]

Decay

I stink of rot

Of the festering wounds left by those before you.

I smell of the earth that they buried me in. 

Where they left me to decay.

I’m still withering.

I fade away even as you hold me in your arms. 

I fight it everyday.

I am not healed.

Perhaps I never will be. 

But, I try. 

I want to be better.

I want to be what you deserve. 

And, as you tenderly cleanse my flesh of filth.

I feel exposed without it. 

Why do I insist on wallowing in the hole that was dug for me?

Is it because it’s safe here?

Am I safe? 

Was I ever?

You say I’m safe with you.

How could I be?

You who shines like the dawning of the day.

Why would you want to waste your time on me?

I scream into the dark.

I wail and scratch and crawl away.

I taste my own blood on my lips as I tell you that I love you. 

I do love you.

I love you so much.

But, again, I’m full of rot.

The hope for your love

Slides down my throat like razor blades.

Silently I watch you. 

And I wonder when you’ll discard me like the others.

Only this time…

I’ll stay in my grave. 

[flyxbyxnight]

Snippet From " The Last Days of Autumn"

( A piece from a long shelved book that I couldn't publish.)

-----------------------------------

I hadn’t spoken to my mother in years. 

I’m not even sure why I felt compelled to reach out to her then. 

Maybe something within me still needed her; some forgotten inner child who longed for the comfort of a parent during these times of uncertainty. Maybe I just wanted to say one last goodbye before I left. Who knows, really… I immediately began to regret my decision as I pulled up to the disheveled mobile home. The small yard was filled with piles of trash and broken down cars, molded furniture that had been left out in the elements- All the lovely qualities you’d expect from a busted crack house. I could hear the mindless slurred chatter from inside as I stepped up onto the porch. A set of beady, sunken eyes peered at me from behind a blanket that was being used to cover the windows, and before I could knock, I was met with a rush of stale air scented of dog urine and cigarette smoke. The army of small crusty dogs yapped and snarled at me from the stained, broken down furniture.  

“Yeah?” said the man at the door. He scratched his bloated belly beneath the stained white tank top that stretched over it. He looked ghastly. His arms were covered in patchy, crudely done tattoos marred by the scabby needle marks along his irritated skin. 

“What do you want?” he asked, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips. 

“I’m here to see Beth, I’m her daughter.”

“Hmm-” he nodded, inhaling deeply before blowing a cloud of smoke in my face. 

“Didn’t know Beth had a daughter,” he continued, a skeezy smile stretching over his broken teeth. 

He gestured over his shoulder before hollering, “Hey Beth! There’s a sweet little number here to see ya!”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Earl!?” Her voice was hoarse, ragged, almost tired-like as I entered the trailer. I jumped back as the small yapping dogs snapped at my ankles, earning me some snide chuckles from the drugged out onlookers.  

“Get back!” yelled Earl, “Don’t mind them, they don't bite.”

Yeah right… I tried not to acknowledge the other people in the home, those who crushed pills on a framed 8x10 photo of me and my sister to snort, those checking their veins and shooting up at the kitchen table. How can she live like this? I made my way down the hall to the back bedroom with the cracked door. 

“Who is it?” she asked as I pushed the door open all the way. She looked up at me, thick curly hair matted up into a bun on top of her head, tits hanging out of one of Earls' wife-beaters. 

“Fuck…” was all she could say.

“Mom,” I said curtly. 

“Shit, it’s ‘bout time you paid your mommy a visit.” she said, sitting up in her bed. There were cigarette butts and used needles laying by her on the mattress. 

“You look good, Autumn- My Autumn Breeze.” she smiled as she said it, as if she was proud of the name she gave me. 

“I wish I could say the same for you…” 

She patted the spot beside her on the stained mattress as if she wanted me to sit. 

“I’m fine, I’ll stand.” 

A small white dog with matted fur and deep brown tear stains jumped up onto her lap. 

“So, to what do I owe this surprise visit?” Her voice was condescending, sarcastic as her hands got lost in the overgrown fur of the dog. 

I didn’t know how to break it to her gently, or if it would even matter considering how little she cared for me anyway. How much could you possibly love someone you chose drugs and a life of squaller over? 

My teeth grazed my bottom lip, and with a sharp exhale, I just said it. 

“Mom, I have Cancer.” 

She didn’t look up, not right away. 

“Cancer, huh?” she said, flatly, lighting the cigarette that hung between her lips

   “What kind?” she asked

“Glioblastoma… The same that killed Daddy.”

She scoffed with a deep inhale of smoke. 

“ That figures–” then she said something I wasn't prepared for. 

“Even after the fucker is dead, he’s still taking you away from me. You know that shit’s genetic, right?” Anger shot through me, and I felt my nails dig into my palms as I tightened my fists at my side. “Don’t talk about him like that.” I hissed, my tone no louder than an agitated whisper. 

“Sorry. How could I forget how much you idolized him.” her tone was bitter, she seems to forget that she left us, not the other way around. But what good would bringing that up do now? I didn’t come here to start a fight. 

“I’m not accepting treatment. I don’t want to die like he did. And I definitely don’t want Haylie to see me like that.”

“Don’t talk stupid, Autumn. That dying with dignity shit is just that- shit. In the end we all die crumpled in a pathetic heap, screaming for God’s mercy. You can’t fool me with this ‘being brave’ bullshit. You’ll do the treatments.”

“No I’m not. I’m leaving for Dad’s home town tomorrow.”

A condescending grin stretched across her face as she put the cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray.

“Oh, so you’re running? Now that sounds a little more like you.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that-”

“Yes you do,” she interrupted. “You ran from Haylie’s father. A Good man with a good job. You had it made, and just because you couldn’t have your way, you threw him down like trash! You always were my more selfish child.”

“Mom, he cheated on me with my best friend!”

“Men cheat. Ask me how many times Earl has slept around on me! I don’t give a shit.”

“It’s because you’ve given up!”

“Me? Isn’t that what you’re doing? Giving up? You can’t even be bothered to fight for your own daughter.” 

I didn’t need this. I was so stupid to think she would have any kindness to spare me. 

“I’m done, Mom. I don’t even know why I fucking came here.”

I turned away from her, holding back tears as I made my way down the hall. Before I could clear the piss soaked carpet, she delivered one final, venomous blow.   

“Well, when you make it to Hell– Tell your Daddy I said Hi!”

[flyxbyxnight]

You Didn't Kill Your Pain; It Just Switched Hosts...

(Trigger Warning: This is something I wrote to help me process the death of my close friend who committed suicide on November 11th 2023. If that could be triggering for you, dear reader, or If you know that it will trigger you, please do not proceed. You Matter, You are loved, and If you are caught in the middle of a mental health crisis please call or text 988 for the suicide and crisis lifeline. Dying will not kill your pain, it will only spread to those who love you most. Please Stay.)

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One

🍂

The grief is heavy;

It hangs in the air so thick that you can cut it with a knife. 

Everyone is here, I wish you could see. Everyone who loves you has all gathered at your mothers house. Every friend you ever had– Even your military brothers have flown in from wherever they’re from. I’m not sure where, I’m sorry I’m not feeling social enough to ask. 

Everyone seems to be in various stages of mourning; Some angry, some sad, some completely numb… I guess I fall into that category at the moment. 

I’m sitting on the front porch steps, practically eating cigarettes one after the other as the low rumble of the chatter from inside disturbs the stillness of the night. It’s cold here on the holler, and I bring the collar of my jacket up to my ears to save them from the biting breeze. 

You picked a bad time to leave us, Vernon. It’s so close to the holidays. Thanksgiving is next week and your sister, Miranda, is already talking about how you won’t be around to tear into her special deviled eggs. You won’t get to meet the baby girl she’s carrying inside her. 

There’s so much you’re going to miss. Why couldn’t you have just hung on for one more hour…another minute, even. 

“Hey…” Virginia’s gentle voice cuts through the low roar of conversation coming from the open front door. She comes and sits by me, and I put the cigarette out on the bottom of my boot. I know the smoke bothers her. 

“How are you holding up?” I ask. Your sister-in-law has been my unsung hero through all of this– From being there to answer the call when I tried to get you help, to being the one to notify me of what you did the next morning. 

“I’m holding up, I guess… About as well as everyone else, I suppose. How are you?”

“I don’t really know. I guess I’m still in shock,” I reply with a heavy sigh. I don’t know how else to answer but with honesty. I know I’m hurting, I’m confused, I’m mad; I’m all kinds of things at once. When Virginia called me that morning and told me you were gone, I just collapsed. It hit me like a truck heading full speed into a brick wall. I screamed, I cried, I wailed into the void begging you to come back. I made sounds that frightened me as I looked back on it. I’d never experienced a loss quite like yours. I’d never felt pain quite like you’ve inflicted. 

You… You really are a bastard for doing this to me…

I know…I’m aware that I’m not the only one who lost you. I’m aware enough to know that I’m not the only one suffering, but… My own pain seems to be the only thing I’m focused on. I guess I’m selfish like that. Yes, you did this to your family, your other friends, your beautiful three year old daughter, Harper; but you did this to me. 

So much for being numb;  I went from numb to bitter in a matter of seconds. 

Grief is weird like that, I guess…

“I’ve gone over it so many times in my mind… I should’ve called you first. I should’ve–”

“No,” she interrupted, placing her warm hand gently on my shoulder. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for this.” she said, pulling me close so that her arm could reach around my shoulders. I shake my head, and the tears begin to spill out. I do. I do blame myself because you called me when you needed me most and I couldn’t help you. When you held that gun up to your head– I… damnit…

Here comes that horrible noise I make. A new noise I just discovered with your passing. A noise that registers somewhere between an extended bleat of a goat and the braying of a mule. I hate this noise. I hate the way it pulls from deep within my chest, the way the contents of my broken heart spill into it after every shaken breath. I feel helpless, like a small child crying out in distress signaling to a nearby parent— I’m hurt, I’m hurting! Someone please make it stop, because I’m hurting! 

She holds me for a moment, letting her own pain saturated tears drip down onto my hair. 

I love you, Vernon! I love you so much, you said that you loved me too that night; You said I was your sister. 

I don’t want this. I don’t want to hurt this way, I was never meant to lose you like this. 

My mind flashes with visions of your face, none of them with a smile, or any happy memory we shared together- no. It’s all from that night. The emptiness in your eyes, the strain in your voice, the way your tears burned scars on my heart.

 And that gun, always the goddamned gun. 

You didn’t want any services, no wake, no funeral– nothing. Just straight to cremation. 

Not only did you leave me like this, but you took my ability to say goodbye away. 

There’s a process to this. You know there's a process; Those who love you gather together, we say goodbye, we bury you. That’s how it has always been, but you wouldn’t even give me that. 

I would rather have my last memory of you lying peacefully in a beautiful satin lined casket, surrounded by photo’s and flowers, but you wouldn’t give me that.

I’m so mad, Vernon. I’m hurt and I’m mad, but I don’t want to be mad at you. 

I hate being mad at you, because I love you.

I love you… and you can’t even tell me you’re sorry. 

Are you sorry?

Two

🍂

Last Saturday

If I knew this would be the last time I ever spoke with you, I would’ve done better to express how much you mean to me. 

I knew you were drunk when you called. I knew before I even picked up the phone. It was late; around 3am. You weren’t forming coherent sentences, but through the slurred mess I was able to make out what you were trying to express to me. You kept saying “ I want to see you, let's facetime.” So we did, because I wanted to see you too. I wanted to see you; but not like that.  It’s still such a blur. Bits and pieces come to me over time but it was just… so awful. You told me that I didn’t understand, but when you pulled the gun from your desk drawer and put it to your head, I understood. I understood fully. 

Clip in, Clip out, Clip in, Clip out.

Your finger trembles against the trigger. 

I cry out, “Please Don’t! Don’t Do This To Me!” 

I begged you, “Please, Don’t Go!” 

Don’t go…and don’t force me to watch.

 I messaged everybody– Anybody I could think of; Doing everything I could to get you some sort of help. But I didn’t do it right. I must not have done it right. I couldn’t have, or you’d still be here. 

You told me you loved me; but how could you do this to someone you love? 

You kept hanging up, and I kept calling back. But, when you didn’t respond to my calls anymore, I panicked and began to call for help. Nobody answered; No one, except Virginia. She alerted your older brother, Ronnie, and he was able to get you on the phone. You were crying. I was crying. Virginia was calming me down as Ronnie tried to talk you into putting the gun away.

1…2…3…4…5…6…7…

Silence.

You muted the phone before you pulled the trigger.

What you don’t realize is that the same bullet that killed you, 

Killed a part of me too. 

Three

🍂

Present Day

Where are you?

 I seem to be asking this question a lot these days. It feels like I’m closest to you when I’m sad. It's like the connection between us is stronger when I pick at my wounds. 

Am I picking though? Is it picking or is it processing? I can’t tell. 

All I know is that I’m not ready to let you go yet. Even though it seems that everyone around me is done talking about it. It seemed to come and go so fast for them. Kind of like, “Oh he died? Oh, I hate that.” then it's over for them. I’m not finished. I may never be finished, but it feels like my circle of those I can share this with is getting smaller. It is getting smaller. I can’t speak as freely as I want to because it bothers people. I don’t want to bother anyone, it’s not in my nature. But with this, I want to tear my chest open in a crowded place and scream, “Look What He Did To Me!... LOOK AT WHAT HE DID!” for I know that if my heart were to be exposed, if it were out in the open for all to see, It would be covered in gashes, open and bleeding, rotting down to the meat and muscle that it’s made from. I wanted to fix it. I should’ve been able to fix it. Everyone always comes to me for everything. And thus far I’d been able to say the right things; to give some sort of relief. 

But I couldn’t fix you. 

I couldn’t, and I’m sorry. 

I love you.

I’m lost. 

I’m completely consumed by the emptiness you left behind. I can’t see anything else. 

I can’t hear anyone else. I’m sensitive, and raw. 

I just want you back.