August 29, 2012

(Friends, believe me when I tell you that I would rather sweat over a novel then plan a wedding. Seriously. Worrying about plot development is a cakewalk compared to making phone calls to bakeries and photographers and churches. I could just elope but hell, I like family events and even though it’s not a huge wedding, I’d like it to be somewhat traditional. On the bright side, everyone I’ve had to deal with has been really nice. I love nice people. But still, give me novel writing any day. Speaking of novels, my zombie story is almost done. It’s more of a novella than a novel, although it was originally planned to be novel-length. But the story wanted to be short and I’m not going to force it to be something it’s not.)




     (((a dream where everyone is a zombie))) i think my hands fall off my arms and hit the ground and i feel them fall but don’t know where they land and if they land correctly, with the nails hitting the dirt so the whole hand is erect, then i don’t even know. i try to catch my reflection in a mirror but the glass is broken and so i look for water. my throat scratches with dried ache but i can’t swallow. i don’t have a throat. i glance at the ground but my eyes don’t roll easily. my eyes roll hard to the side, then pivot away, so i see sporadic imagines, part of a tree, then the sky, then a flash of gray skin, a patch of brown dirt, a clump of white fur, the sky, a nothing. [J, i whisper.] but the sound isn’t right and it comes out like, [jjjjjaaaaaaa….] i am diseased. the infection is in my skin, my hair, my muscles, my bones, my marrow. it moves through me like blood. and my eyes swing from left to right, then up and down, in circles, and back, and then my eyes ache. bloodshot gelatin slips down my face and puddles up on my cheek bones. [stop, i moan. just stop.] but the sounds still aren’t right, [ssssshhhhhhpuhpuhpuh.] i lift my arms and my hands flail at my cheeks, knocking marrow off, smearing the gelatin. i don’t have to look at my reflection to know that my face is glistening with jelly. a yellow infection runs out of my forehead and shudders before dribbling down my nostrils. i sniff the infection up but my lungs are stiff with wooden sinew. i poke my cheeks and the meat bends slightly beneath my fingers. [poke, poke, poke, i whisper.] but i really say, [puuuuukkka. pukkkkka. pukkkkkkeeeeh.] i sit on the floor and the rabbit runs to me, back legs thumping the dirt as she moves. she jumps onto my lap and turns in a circle, paws scraping at my skin. tufts of fur come off her skin and waft through the air like cotton ball puffs. i cock my head to the side and the rabbit groans. i drop a hand onto her back and her ribs snap beneath the weight. i pet her slowly, bones cracking in my hands and her body. she rolls her head in a circle, brown eyes rimmed with red. her pupils are orange. i poke her cheeks and the rabbit’s lips curl back, revealing long front teeth adorned with raw red strips that knot around the enamel. [what is happening, i wonder.] sunlight burns my hands. i lift my arms slightly and turn my wrists, staring as my palms appear, then the backs of my hands, then my palms again. [nnnnnnn, a voice says.] i turn slowly and J stumbles towards me. he pats his stomach gently, the thumbs crashing against his meat. orange trickles out of his body. his swollen abdomen pushes out of his shirt and i extend my arms. where is my uterus? is it dried up like an apple slice? or did it fall from my prolapsed pelvis? where is the flesh? and why am i so worried about it? the rabbit tumbles off my lap, smacks the dirt, and crawls behind a large log. a large piece of her tail clings to the split wood of a dried stick. i stand but my knees lock, then buckle. i pitch forward and my legs slam against the floor. i keep my arms in front of me and J staggers over to me, his feet scraping over the dirt, knocking rocks to the side, sweeping the leaves. [nnnnnn, he moans.] [jjjjjjaaaaaa, i say.] his hands bump against my shoulders and i poke my fingers against his sides. we stare at one another and sigh. a yellow eye hangs over his cheek and i poke the eye. it swings back and forth, the gelatin still attached to the ligament stalk. [meat, i whisper.] J shakes his head. [eye, he says.] i point at my stomach. he gestures towards his neck. the rabbit drags her body towards us, stomach sagging as it scrapes over the ground, and she bumps her head against her ankles, then moves around us in a constricting circle. i bite the air. i push my head forward and nip the meat above J’s shoulder. he turns his head to the side and my teeth connect with the flesh and break through the muscle, tearing and chewing. J doesn’t taste like anything. maybe a runny egg, or gelatin-infused water. but nothing with real flavor. but i bite anyway. J drops at the waist and his head presses against my stomach. his teeth click as they catch my torso and bite through the meat. i roll my eyes and lean at the waist until my mouth hangs over the small of his back. i chew quickly, shredded meat slipping down my throat, and dropping into my stomach, which feels like iron even as J chews through the lining. and it is funny because i fill my stomach with his meat and J eats my stomach which is filled with his meat and it is a strange consumption cycle that hurts my stomach but makes my stomach feel nice. i sigh as i chew. the rabbit bumps my foot, leans over the bridge, and nips the top of my foot. she yanks meat strips down and chews loudly, wheezing as she moves her jaws around. and i think, [at least we’re all together and munching.]

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