Into My Life

you came.

We became good friends,

shared daily stories

about our daily lives.

I saw you as someone special,

someone I could love.

You looked at me simply as a friend.

I watched, listened,

of the sorrows of your life.

With each new relationship you had,

you knew you could trust me,

because we were friends.

All you wanted was “to be loved,”

words you would say after each hurt.

“Perhaps the next time will be the best of times,”

I would say, privately wishing it would be me.

Then you saw your last sun rise,

breathed your final breath.

Love never touched you,

the way you dreamed it would.

Into my life you came,

a one-sided love affair,

and you never knew.

Photo used with permission by slmnten

“I thought I got three wishes.”

“Boy, you think this is ‘Aladdin’? You get one wish that lasts one day, and you should be damn happy to be getting that.”

The mustachioed specter hovers before me, awaiting my response with crossed arms and a cross face. Not quite what I expected from a genie, but nothing about this encounter conforms to my expectations. Rather than awakening from a golden lamp, the genie arose from a chamber pot I had disturbed while picking through the landfill. “Give me a minute,” I say.

“Don’t think too hard. It’s only for a day. Then you can go back to sifting through other people’s trash.”

The classics flash through my head: unfathomable wealth, supermodels, more wishes. Ultimately, I decide on something to help heal this nation, to unite our people, to break down political barriers. I take a deep breath and make my wish:

“Make me invisible.”

The ensuing 24 hours are a dizzying succession of flights to New York, Los Angeles, and all the flyover places of forest and prairie we call America. I fiddle with a Broadway theatre spotlight, splash around in the Pacific Ocean, and slam countless doors across the Midwest.

When finally my head hits pillow 23.75 sleepless hours later, I have just enough energy to flip on the television. The blue-glow evening news flashes images of today’s exploits: ocean water erupting on its own, a SuperAmerica door opening for an invisible figure, and much more. As I slip into a deep sleep, I have myself convinced I’m a ghost.

What follows is an absolutely glorious week. The blue-vs-red political cesspool has been put on hold. The presidential debate ratings are dwarfed by Ghost Hunters, Most Haunted, and Paranormal State. All races and religions sit side by side on the living room sofa. For the first time in a long time, this country can say, “We believe.”

And then one morning it’s all smashed to pieces. A campaign ad crackles through my speakers:

“The Bible prophesied our messiah would one day return, when we needed Him most. With all the rioting, looting, and violence in our country, it looks like He heard us…”

Images of my invisible deeds flash on screen while the narrator spouts patriotic gibberish. Once the voiceover ends, an elderly man covered in makeup says, “My name is so-and-so, and I approve this message.”

Of course, the other candidate responds. Over the next two weeks, several explanations are offered for the mysterious phenomena, all in support of one party or another. My favorites are: the ghost of Ruth Bader Ginsburg, alien communications, and the collective unconscious of all fed-up Republicans. Little do they know it’s the creation of a non-voter living below the poverty line.

Eventually the hot takes cool, and the two sides form hypotheses to support their fundamental beliefs. One side backs scientific research concluding the so-called supernatural phenomena are an unfortunate byproduct of climate change, while the other side dismisses the happenings as a mainstream media hoax, referring to the hauntings as “fake boos.”

It all goes back to the way it was before.

As I saunter down the cracked and broken path, a conglomeration of picket signs argues over which billionaire cares most about them. With no dog in the fight, I continue on my way to the landfill, where I rifle through America’s rubbish. I hope I can find another genie. This time I’ll wish for supermodels.

Why am I supposed to be alive?

To experience the encompassing love,

Just to be strangled by hate thereof?

To hold my family and friends dear,

Just to wait for them to disappear?

To silently obey the laws of loyalty,

Just to be named 'cheater' by society?

To swim in the lake of memories,

Just to drown by the upcoming centuries?

To be enthralled by my wonderful body,

Just to bear illnesses like it was shoddy?

To behold you in the evergreen light,

Just to heavily gulp our truthful plight?

To walk on the straight roads of trust,

Just to be pinned down by the doubt rust?

To drive the fastest ride of madness,

Just to halt with the brakes of sadness?

To give tight hugs of satisfying care,

Just to be left abandoned without a share?

To ignite the candles of constant hope,

Just to sit in dark wearing the despair robe?

So why am I supposed to be alive?

Is it just to help my death survive?

×∞ Adin

26 September 2020

The morning light is unbearable. You are way down in your sleep, and the sun just ruins it out for you. I wish I closed the curtains down last night. Well, I just cannot blame the sun. If it wasn’t for the sun, my mom would have done this. Considering all the havoc that could create, maybe the sun was helping me out.

I got out of the blanket; It was strangling my foot. Maybe it was asking me to get more sleep. But no, I couldn’t. It’s Monday, and I got to go to school, the most boring place in the world. I mean, it’s not that bad. I get to hang out with my friends and do some crazy things. It’s nice, except for the strict rules and melodrama.

I pulled myself out of my bed. Ah! How good it feels to do a morning stretch! I could hear the sounds of my bones realigning after a long sleep. I walked over to the table to see if there was any homework left to do. Weekends often does cruel things to me, once it turns Monday. I was glad to notice there was nothing much. “You are improving, Susan,” I told myself.

I untied my hair and moved on to the mirror. I have jet black hair. I mean, really black. It’s like, the light would not be able to escape out of it. But, as I moved on to the mirror, the sight that awaited was not one to turn excited of. But more like, to scream as if the whole world would tremble.

But I didn’t. I just stood there, staring at the blank mirror, not even breathing. Where the hell am I? What happened to me? Am I dead? No, why would I be dead? I am just 16. What if it was a cardiac arrest or something? No, it can’t be. What the hell! I tried to feel my body. It was there. Then why was I not there in the mirror? My heart was still racing. What was happening?

Suddenly, I heard my mom. “Sweetheart, wake up. It’s nearly 8. You will be late. Did that just rhyme? I think I should try poetry.” My mother was always like that; she talks to herself a lot, loud. I saw her pushing the door open. “Honey, where are you?” The short, blonde woman asked with no tension at all when I was standing right there, where she could see.

“Honey!” Her voice began to crack. “Where you at? Don’t play games with me.” I could see her face turning red. She was breaking down; she is quite sensitive. She doesn’t need much reason to cry out loud.

But, this means she could not see me too. I could not see myself in the mirror, now she can’t see me, standing face to face. Am I really dead? But, then my body should be right there on my bed. And I should be the spirit. I don’t believe in the afterlife, but that’s how it’s supposed to work. Soon, I realised what was right there in front of me all this time. I am invisible.

I was petrified. But how could this happen? Am I going to stay invisible forever? I don’t want to do that.

Wait! On second thoughts, this will be AMAZING!

*****

I walked through the streets, alone, no strings attached. I was doing everything I ever wished for. I was dancing through the streets. I stole an ice-cream from the tall, grim guy. I did all sorts of faces right in front of my teachers. And I slapped Anna hard on her cheek. Ah! That was the best part. She almost fell down. This was the best day of my life.

It was now near night. I felt I should go home now. I could not even imagine to what extent, mom has gone with my missing. I slowly opened the gate. But that’s when I saw her again; the lady who lives at the other end of our block. She was mysterious, never talks to anyone, rarely gets out of her house, those large glasses and that long, messy brown hair. She was, in all ways, intriguing.

I realised I don’t have a better chance than this. I could know more about her and, she won’t even be able to see me. I slipped in through the front door. It was dark. The lighting inside was very dim. She was definitely hiding something in here.

Suddenly, I heard her movements. I ran upstairs quietly. She might not be able to see me, but she could sure hear my voice. So, I was careful. She rested on the old sofa, sipping coffee from her mug. Alright, now I had to make my moves. I decided to search upstairs first. I looked around, but I could not see anything except the darkness.

But, my hands struck something down. It was a vase. I caught it very close to the floor. That could have destroyed everything. I took a deep breath and leaned against the wooden wall. Bang! I fell on my back. But, to my surprise, I was still inside. I fell right through the wall; it’s a secret room, I realised.

Unlike the whole house, this room was sheer white and was brightly illuminated. The wall made such a huge noise. She would be up here any second; I had to hide. So, I ran across the room, to the other end. But suddenly, I stopped dead on my tracks.

I saw something. I could not grasp what it was. But I was sure I found something; I was afraid to look back. My heart was pounding against my chest. Trying to gain all my courage, I turned around in one swift move.

I was paralysed. I wanted to scream, but my chest felt so heavy. I couldn’t even breathe. It was a man; strapped to the wall, half-naked, devoid of his eyes and ears. There were no feet beneath his pants and no palms after his wrists. There were wounds were all across his body. I felt to vomit but somehow controlled myself.

But, his ribs were moving. He was breathing. He was alive. Oh my God, this was a grave mistake. I should never have come here.

“Please don’t hurt me anymore.” The man cried. There were no tears. But, his voice was trembling. “Please.”

I stayed quiet. I didn’t know what to do. I had to hide, I ran to the corner and hid behind the table. It was not safe. But, I had no other place to go. That lady will kill me. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die, not like this. I wept, closing my mouth tight. She was here.

She looked around the room like a beast. Then, she went straight at the dying man. “Who is here, Tyran?” She screamed at him. “I don’t know, I don’t know.” The man was crying. I felt helpless. What should I do? She was speaking again, ” I know someone’s here. Show your face.” She was laughing now.

But she could not see me. So, if I could get past her in a quick run, maybe I could survive. That was when I looked at the wall against me. I could see a shadow; a shadow of myself. I am visible. She can see me. I looked around to see what she was doing. But, she was not there. My heart was racing now. Suddenly, I felt someone behind me.

I was too afraid to look around. I don’t want to die. God, please help me. But I could now see two shadows on the wall. Oh, God! What can I do? I could not stop my tears. I slowly looked around, ready to accept my cruel fate. She stood there, looking directly at me. She was smiling, but that was definitely not one born out of joy.

#fiction

it's like knives have sliced your skin to ribbons. gashes in your back, blood mixing with the stale air.

and from the two gaping holes, a pair of moth's wings. dusty and tattered, reflected through the cracked mirror.

this is... strange. unexpected, to say the least.

your feet tap lightly against the thinning carpet in the hallway. the dying light bulbs, flickering softly, have never seemed so beautiful.

there's a fruit bowl, chipped china, sitting on the kitchen table. you sift through it. bananas and apples, oranges and kiwi. in the darkest depths, you discover a rotten pear, squishy and spattered with dark spots.

there's a tangy aroma wafting off of it, sweetness bordering on rot. the flesh melts into your hands, and you can't help yourself. the hunger in your stomach comes in short, insistent bursts.

the pear brushes your lips. the layer around it is waxy.

the juices crash into your tongue. it's the best thing you've ever eaten.

the pear is gone too soon. your attention diverts to the door outside. maybe there's... light out there.

your fingers are delicate, wisps of bone. you have to choke the handle with your grip.

you are weak, paper blowing through the wind.

the outside world has never seemed so alive. your senses have magnified. waves of color and sound and smells crash over you.

there's a buzzing noise. it's close, invading your ears. you can't decipher where it's coming from, but it's close. you spin in circles, scanning the sky.

when they find dying rays of the sun, crawling and weaving into the sharp blue sky, you are temporarily distracted.

you used to despise the sun. how it dug into your flesh and wrinkled it, how it scattered you with angry burns. it made the air scorching, like it was made of invisible flames.

but now, it is a luminous beacon- of light, of hope. now, you can comprehend its symbolism. what it represents, what it truly is. you are drawn to it. the pull is inevitable.

the buzzing. it's from your wings. you had forgotten about them, adjusted to their weight. your wings are aching to fly, toward the sun.

at that thought, you begin to hover, over the patch of dead grass that was needling your bare feet. your wings flap slowly, twisting and morphing under the weight of the air. they are brittle, and the scales that encase the lace and tulle inside slough off, floating to the ground like volcanic ash.

it's awkward, at the beginning. but, practice makes perfect.

you need to start your journey now. the sooner you reach the sun, the better.

you will die happy, bathing in its light.

the higher you soar, the colder it gets. your lungs collapse in on themselves. below you is a tragically gorgeous quilt. it only looks beautiful when it's far away.

a snake of traffic becomes a glistening rainbow ribbon. smoke from factories become fluffy wads of cotton. houses, all the same, become flawlessly executed lines of stitching.

the air is ice now, not the flame you once knew. you thought getting closer to the sun would pull you into its circle of warmth.

black slides into your vision. your wings twitch, then stutter. they are beginning to bleed, a soft shower of crimson rain.

you will never reach the sun.

your eyes slip shut. your mind has left your body, continuing on without you, towards that beautiful, beautiful, light.

but your body, your prison, shall tumble to the earth and shatter.

*****

your eyes fly open. you are wrapped in layers of silk, it clings to you, presses your limbs together.

you're still alive... but something's missing.

you claw at the threads, claw at your mind.

what is it?

what is it?

a tear blossoms. you drop to the ground, gape at the vessel. a glowing white orb, hanging from the thin branch of a willow tree.

and suddenly, you know. you rake your hands up and down your back, feeling nothing.

your wings are gone, now only their shadows remain. you will miss them, you will not easily forget.

as you walk away from the tree, to nowhere in particular, you gaze up at the moon, a soft echo of the sun's light.

and

you

abandon

your

cocoon

once

more

I sign my life away for $25,000. More than I’m worth but it’s not like I’m going to tell them that. After all the needles and tubes and tests, I’m a bit wobbly as I make my way out the main entrance of the clinic. Is it the pill that makes my stomach knot and my palms sweat, or is it the knot of unease settled in my stomach?

The sun burns through the thin fabric of my sweater and I shiver, lifting a hand to sheild my eyes. I’m not invisible, yet no one pays me any attention. Can’t they see the wires snaking up my spine or the camera nestled in the golden rose strapped around my neck?

Maybe the pill kicked in sooner than expected. Afterall, I’m not a rat. Which is something they’ve told us too many times to count, though as a warning or a form of comfort, I’m not sure. Even in the latest batch of tests, a rat died, limbs jutting out at jagged angles, mouth open and blood crusted around its eyes.

They gave us one last out before taking us back, one by one, into the exam room. As our group shrunk from twenty to nineteen, eighteen, seventeen, I didn’t miss the way their eyes darted from one dusty picture frame to the next, fingers intertwining in their laps and feet tapping erratic rythms on the glossy tile. They’d taken our phones at the front desk but I’d brought a poetry book which I flipped through, trying to block out the annoying melody of nervousness. My eyes skimmed each page, every word burned deep in my brain from years of sleepless nights.

I tried to skip page 49. And yet, the ink pulled me in and I couldn’t get my fingers to move past it. The lines formed chains, tugging me down, down, down until I found it among the waterstains.

From childhood’s hour I have not been

As others were—I have not seen

As others saw—I could not bring

My passions from a common spring—

From the same source I have not taken

My sorrow—I could not awaken

My heart to joy at the same tone—

And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—

Two words had been sloppily scribbled above the dash. With you. I heard the words, echoing and repeating long after my head grew foggy from all the vials of blood they took.

And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone with you.

It’s a little hazy now, a memory I left behind when I stepped out onto the sidewalk. The book is tucked away in my backpack, where it will probably stay until I can bring myself to dig it out again. I don’t even know why I brought it in the first place.

I glance in a store window. My hair is darker than I remembered. Longer, too. And my undereyes are so puffy it looks like I cried all night, which I haven’t, of course. I make a mental note to get an eyemask later.

I don’t. Get the eyemask, that is. The subway’s too crowded to even breathe and I’m so sick and tired of bodies being crushed into mine I can barely stand to look at another person within a hundred feet of me. Which is basically everyone.

Only when I’m in the stairwell of my apartment building do I finally get some space. Definetely no quiet though, with muffled shouts and thumps bleeding through the walls. My skin prickles with sweat and my steps slow. I hate this place, the way the air sticks in my throat, heavy with that attic smell—all dust and insulation and crumbling memories.

But it’s all I can do to not sit down on stair 169. The door is right there, looming over me, but if I sit with my back to it I can pretend it’s not there. But eventually my legs will carry me through this door to one marked 9E.

Two hours, they said. So if they’re right and my body responds like a rodent a mere fraction of my size, I should be invisible in twenty minutes. I wonder how the other half of the trial group are doing, trapped in isolation chambers and surrounded by cameras and one-way mirrors. The rest of us will be compared to them in what I was told was an effort to determine the effect of strong emotion on the duration.

Or maybe I got a sugar pill or something and they want to see if the placebo effect is strong enough that I turn myself invisible. A tiny laugh escapes my lips. It’s not much, but it gets me into the hallway.

By the time I get to the door my legs hurt and my fingers shake a little as I fumble for my key. I push my way inside, dropping my backpack on the floor with a dull thunk. The air is dry, empty and almost stale. Not a single light is on, the bright glow of a streetlamp fighting to get through drawn curtains. It has almost always been like this, and yet a small part of me hopes —well, nevermind.

“This is my lovely abode,” I say for the researchers monitoring me. I doubt they’re amused. “I can’t decided which crime I want to commit in fifteen minutes.”

I bet that’s what the others are planning on doing. And nobody’s going to stop them, not even the researchers. That rush of adrenaline, the spike of panic—it’s perfect.

For a moment, I entertain the idea. It’s a distraction, a chance to be someone else for a night without consequences. But that’s not really what I want. Not anymore.

I flick on the light over the kitchen sink as I slip off my sneakers and kick them in the general direction of the other shoes. There’s half a chicken sandwhich next to a plate of spaghetti I should have thrown away a week ago. Neither sounds appealing and I’m not hungry so I might as well go lie down on the couch.

The still room begs me to stay and I linger for a heartbeat under the faded yellow glow. The shivers are back, cold seeping from the fake marble countertop into my arms. I have what, ten minutes now? Time is dragging as it slips through my fingers and even my phone seems confused, the spaces between each minute growing uneven.

I rummage through the drawers without so much as a word as though I don’t already know exactly what I’m looking for. Maybe all of my observers have become bored to tears and left, though I doubt it.

Finally, among the matches, two pocket knives, a pair of scissors and a stack of multi-colored notecards, I find it. Ripping off a piece of duct tape, I wrap it around and around the charm containing the camera. In my mind’s eye, I see the researchers freaking out in their lab over loss of visuals on Patient String of Random Numbers like in the movies.

“I’m just going to take a shower and I don’t think you need to see that. I mean, I’m not invisible yet.” They won’t come bust down my apartment door because they can’t watch me for fifteen minutes, will they? “Oh, and the mic too...that’s just weird, man. And I’d like to note I’m not breaking any terms of the contract I signed. I’m not removing any of the equipment from my body nor causing any damage to them.”

At least, I don’t think so. I hope not.

I cover the mic before I change my mind.

Jumbled syllables fall from my mouth as I scramble back. Splotches of my hands float in the air, my knuckles disconnected from one another. I rip at my sweater, struggling to pull it over my head.

I can’t breathe. Panic explodes through my body at the sight of my dissolving arms. Even the skin tight body suit they gave me is phasing in and out. My vision wavers and blurs. I think...I think I’m going to pass out. I can’t...

My stomach flips and turns, bile burning the back of my throat. An acidic, bitter taste burns my tongue and I’m shaking so bad my legs refuse to hold me. Or maybe they aren’t even there anymore.

I’m not sure how long I stay there, huddled in the corner between cupboards and the stove as I hyperventilate. But gradually, my breathing evens out and I can actually stand up. Though walking is another matter altogether.

I can’t stop searching for my arms, even though I can’t see them anymore. I’m nothing more than a floating pair of pants and my insides don’t like it one bit. The croissant from this morning—the only thing I’ve eaten all day—threatens to come back up and I have to keep swallowing it down. It didn’t even taste good the first time.

“Okay, focus, Lena.” I scratch at my arms, but the once comforting gesture only makes things worse. “It’s okay, Lena, it’s okay.”

The words blend together as I shuffle through the tiny living room area into a narrow corridor. In the darkness, the walls press in on me, blank faces angry and accussing. The shadows settle in my aching bones and I can’t chase them away. Not anymore.

Another closed door awaits me, another opportunity to change my mind. Just like those two girls did this afternoon when they left the waiting room.

But despite how much I’ve tried to bury it, I can’t. It keeps coming back, stronger and stronger and some day, I know it will carry me away.

When I open the door, what was and what is collide with a dizzying rush. The air is stolen from my lungs and I am frozen in time, stuck between two worlds bathed in washed-out blue—what we were and what is left.

The blankets swallow you up and I tug them back. You’re drowning again and I can’t save you, can’t do anything but wipe away the tear trickling down your already soaked face.

You whisper my name through cracked lips and my heart breaks all over again. My fingernails dig into my chest but I can’t make it stop. Slowly, your eyes open but they don’t see me. You look right through me, feverishly scanning for my face. Just so you can tell me to leave with a voice that isn’t yours.

Even your eyes are different, darkened with the unfathomable depths of demons I can’t fight. What have they done to you? They stole the man I loved, dragged him to a hell even pills can’t bring him back from.

I want to hold you tightly, want to stay beside you all through the night. I want to tell you something but the words stick in my throat.

I am a coward. A coward for not being able to face you anymore, a coward for creating an excuse for why your eyes stare right through me, all recognition gone from your face. I am not the woman you love anymore. I am a coward for wanting something from you that you can’t even give yourself.

I am sorry and angry and sad and so, so tired.

The carpet muffles my footsteps and when I slip under the covers you barely stir. I stare at the ceiling, the once familiar pattern of criss-crossing cracks nothing more than broken plaster.

The pieces I’ve tried so hard to keep together are shattering into a million shards, burning as they pierce my skin. Perhaps this is what dying feels like.

Like every time before, I roll on my side, my arms searching for you but all I find is the body of a fragile paper boy. You try to twist away, lost in your restless sleep. But I won’t let you, not this time.

I kiss your neck. Your skin is so cold.

I shouldn’t stay. I can’t stay. But if I leave, I know where I will go. I’ve visited the roof many times, stared over the edge to the ground far below. There’s too many people, even at night. But nobody will stop me now.

Then I hear my name again, so faint it might be my imagination. I close my eyes, scalding tears dripping on the pillow. I cling to you with every bit of strength I have left and, for a moment, I can pretend I’m not in love with a stranger.