The Fly

I'm sort of trying something different with this and playing around with it, definitely not my regular style. As a warning, it does depict violence/suicide. I don't want to affect anyone negatively

I am safe here. Here in the dim, cramped bathroom, looking into the mirrored surface of the medicine cabinet. Outside, one muffled voice yells, and the other weeps. A slap. A shout. A brutal bang. My reflection does not meet my eye- hers are closed. Her pale lips twitch, her lids shiver, eyes churning beneath their lids. A crash shatters from beyond the door, and the violent sobbing heaves into an agonized cry, stifled by the walls. But I am safe, tucked behind a rusty lock. I pull my haven around me like a guilty shroud.

The eyes in the mirror open. Her lips peel into a seething grin, bubbling unrestrained from inside. I stare back. Burnt, smoldering hatred cakes the sides of my lungs, dry, cracking, bitter. And I breathe. I breathe deeply in the filthy haze. I watch her eyes shift heavily in their sockets. I read into the grin, its stillness shaping words. Then I shape myself- An embryo inside the milky madness of her eyes. I stretch my mind like dough, and tumble, drip like water. It hangs within my reach. The sliding grip cascades. My hand rises, as though by string, to the cold edge of the mirror. My touch unfolds, from fingertips, fluttering through my veins. Unravels, unwinds, into a solid click. The cabinet opens. I feel the scorching breath against my skin, the bulging, thrumming pulse sweeping me into its embrace. The pulse carries me, with flowing time, away from the shouts and grief. It guides me. Into silence.

My fingers close around a small plastic bottle, trembling with something close to yearning. Desire intertwines with dread, knitting tighter, tighter around the sides. Sick fear settles at the bottom of my gut like cold, dirty water, but I am determined. I will tear myself free. I am part of something enormous.

Picking the bottle up, I weigh its heavy lightness in my hand. The lid turns easily, inviting. I drop it into the porcelain sink. Each capsule is crackling with breath and sleep. I shut the cupboard. If I were to swallow one, I feel flowers could erupt in my lungs, blossoming through my veins, splitting the tissue and tendons inside me.

My reflection is gone from the mirror. White pills fill my palm. I feel them on my tongue. My swallow brings a sweet breath shivering down my spine. I unfold from the inside, my grip loosening, the bottle clattering, and the little drops of white scattering across the tile. Each one collapses into a soft vibrance. Flowers. Flowers bloom along the edge of the mirror, some in the sink, some in the crevices of the walls. Flowers fill my mind. Flowers wrap me in whispers and shivers of joy. The dense burning inside breaks and dissolves, and my spirit thrums, bliss rising through my insides and into the light around me. Radiance glimmers in the petals like vivid drops of dew. Strands of light come from the mirror, thinner than hair, white as moonlight. They form a web, sticking to the sink, to the walls, to me.

More strands form, but they’re thicker. Thick as young branches. My mind is cloudy, but I realise they are arms, pallid fingers reaching towards me. Long arms, twisted, thin, and strong. They arch and pull with perfect grace, as though performing an intricate dance around me. I raise my weary,  listless eyes. In the mirror, I see white and cracking skin, like a coat of chipping paint. Lips peel back from teeth and glistening gums. Grimacing. Or grinning. Everything above has broken into blossom- Its eyes, its head, consumed by flowers. Bones press against the gruesome skin, chipped cracks stretching and closing over a heaving, breathing, beating chest. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Eight arms. Forty fingers. Fingers that close around my wrist, press into the crevices of my shoulder blades, slide over my neck, grab me, pull me, caress me. Each movement is mesmerizing. Suddenly the cold, dirty water of fear lurches up inside me. I vomit. Gagging, spurting bile, as my insides heave painfully. It spatters the sink. A choked gasp. Then it forces through me again, through my strangled throat. I cough, vomit dripping from my chin. The arms hold me up as my knees buckle. My head lolls back, eyes fluttering, jaw clenching, as a rushing drop surges around me. My vision blurs. Then I resurface. Shivering with violent repulsion, I try to pry away, but the fingers clutch me tighter, dragging me. Flowers. Light. Sleep. A jumbled throng fills my ears like cotton. I stumble, feet sliding uselessly on the tile. My scream escapes as a weak moan, filled with torment. Closer. I begin to writhe. Twist. Shudder. Spasm. My throat closes, but my mouth gapes open, sticky with vomit. My knee bangs against the sink as I am pulled over. My eyes lurch back in my skull, uncontrolled.

Followed by emptiness.

I am dropped into a soft blindness, dizzy, murky, white. Drained. All is drained. Submerged in a swathe of horrifying comfort.