Author Archives: alanaicapria

February 24, 2017

“How badly I wanted to climb inside the man, even while knowing he did not have enough room for me. I wanted to cleave his insides open just to prove there was not a gap within which I could curl my body. The man was stuffed up with his own body parts but I still wanted to look, if only to prove the reality of his physical shape to myself. I crawled over the man. I gripped him by the waist and slithered up his legs…”

February 23, 2017

“I was painfully hot. My innards were scorched and ashy. The man was on me, was in me, and he added to my fever, his body heat increasing my own until I overheated. I grabbed at my sides, trying to yank my skin off. It was not enough to be naked. My skin needed to be removed as well. All the heat was trapped within it. The heat was in my bones, my muscles. If I could only take off one layer, then the warmth would cool until I was no longer cooking internally…”

February 21, 2017

“In another dream, there was nothing. Not the man, not the house, not the dark. There was only nothing, an absolute absence of anything, a motionless void. I stood in the midst of that emptiness, lost. I did not know which way to walk. I worried that if I left the spot I stood upon, the nothing would change for the worst. It might open, leaving me to plummet endlessly, or I might be crushed suddenly, my body compacting into itself…”

February 19, 2017

“I dreamed the man was dead. I always dreamed he was dead but while in the dreams, I did not know. In this dream, I saw the man dead, knew he was dead, accepted that he was dead. My dead man, on the floor at the bottom of the staircase, then laid along the length of a deep wooden box…”

February 18, 2017

“Beyond the house was nothing. So I assumed. So I remembered seeing when I walked into the house and shut the door. Nothing in the form of a street and a canyon and a fence. Nothing that resembled a stream and a moon and a neighbor’s house and a playground. Nothing that was roughly paved and made of stone and stinking of rubber. Nothing that was not black. Nothing that was not made of dirt…”

February 17, 2017

“I feared my head bursting. Not my head exploding but the very inside bursting like a balloon, the pressure in my brain growing until the wrinkles stretched smooth, and the flesh popped. It would be an audible pop, one I heard before falling into deep, bloody unconsciousness, the blood in my brain pounding against my temples, filling my eyes, shooting from my ears. But before that, a flashing, a strange smell, a sickness. Vomit on the floor and myself…”

February 14, 2017

“In the dark, in the house, the man said he loved me better than all else. I asked the man if he could love anything more and he said no. I said to the man: If we had a child and it and I were hanging from a cliff, which of us would you save? The man said: I would save you. And so I was glad, but only temporarily. I said to the man: If our home burned and I was trapped inside with your most valued possession and you could only carry one of us from the flames, which would survive?”

February 13, 2017

“It was morning, it was night. The house was always dark. I stayed close to the man yet still found myself alone. The man took my hand and his fingers were cold. His hand came from the wrong direction. The man said: Why are you so afraid? The man said: The doors are all closed, nothing in this house can get you now. The man said: It is only you and me. But I was not comforted. What was a house if the other person went away, leaving you alone? A house was not meant to be unoccupied…”

February 11, 2017

“I was lost within the house. This happened often. The house was dark and shifting and so it was difficult to find my way. I took wrong turns and was confused. The darkness built up into a wall and I became dizzy. I walked up a flight of stairs but did not know where it led. In the hallway, I looked and saw a door but the door was not real. It led directly into the wall. It could not be opened. I picked at scabs of blood stuck in my hair. The blood was mine. It came from my head. I did not remember hitting my head…”

February 10, 2017

“Many might have found the house horrible. They might have thought it a terrible house with dark walls and constant night and a suffocating presence that made it so that breathing was always wet yet dry simultaneously. Many might have thought this was the sort of house inhabited by ghosts—ghosts of marriage and violence and childbirth and fear and heat and cold and sleep…”

February 9, 2017

“In a dream, a radiator chased me around the house. It was just a radiator, a simple metal radiator with short legs and a valve at one side. The radiator pried itself from the floorboards, first one leg, then the other, then the third, then the last. It shuddered in the midst of a mound of splinters, then stepped free. The radiator lurched towards me and I ran. The radiator clanged as it followed. It beat against the floor, breaking the boards, its path marked by misshapen holes…”

February 7, 2017

“After dreaming that the man stabbed me violently, how could I trust him? There were knives in the house; the man only had to open a drawer and pick one out. He could easily strip me naked under the pretense of seduction, then lift me onto his lap and bury the knife into my belly. Perhaps he would kiss my cheek intermittently with the stabbing…”

February 6, 2016

“In the darkest parts of the house (where the light did not exist at all and we stumbled blindly, hurting ourselves when we struck walls and corners and one another), the man’s hair looked black, and then he was not himself. He was not any man I knew and so I was afraid of him while also wanting to slither over him. When the man grabbed me, my stomach flopped until I felt faint…”

February 5, 2017

“You could say the man and I were both condemned to this house and you would not be wrong. This was an absolute condemnation—the forcing together of an unwilling man and woman into the dark of a house that incessantly breathed wet onto our shoulders and gave us violent colds. In the house, we were silent and filled with rage. The man cracked wood between his hands, I picked at wallpaper to expose spongy holes behind. Everything we touched felt wormy…”

February 4, 2017

“The man and I stripped naked, then lay upon our stomachs on the floor. This was something like a religious ritual for us. We lay in the dark with our eyes closed so that the dark increased and the house lessened. We were a man and woman, laying upon the living room floor as if we were dead. We lay until we were numb, then willed ourselves to rise. We could not do it; our bodies were too weak. We lay and lay. We felt the floor upon our stomach, our thighs, our chins…”

February 2, 2017

“I wanted to be the woman whose husband died and because she did not want to be alone, she ate him up. First, the man would go into a bathtub filled with embalming fluid, then soak for weeks until his pickled skin was tough and wrinkled. Once removed from the bath and dried, I would curl myself around his cold body, then pull up pieces of his flesh…”

February 1, 2017

“In the house, I said: I think we are being slowly buried and I can no longer see outside. It did not matter how many times I approached the windows; there was nothing outside the glass. There was only a blackness that came down and settled on the dash. It was thick and heavy and like plastic…”

January 31, 2017

“In the house, the man said: We must be very quiet, so quiet it might kill us, quiet like the dead outside, quiet as if we no longer have our tongues. The man put his hand over my mouth. The weight of it was heavy and my mouth grew hot. I breathed uncomfortably and the moistness accumulated between my lips and his palm. The balminess grew until each breath I tried drawing was wet and heavy. It was a smothering sort of breathing. The man placed his other hand over his first and so the weight increased…”

January 30, 2017

“I opened my eyes and the water was black all around. I waved my hands in front of my face but did not see them. I was stuck in the inkiness. I extended a leg and my toes pushed against the tub bottom, forcing me up. My head broke the water. My inhalations were raspy. My lungs burned from the water I unknowingly inhaled. The black water was inside me, sloshing about between my ribs. I needed to cough…”

January 29, 2017

“Strangely, with all the doors and windows locked, the house felt larger. It echoed more. I walked and heard myself walking. If I closed my eyes, I could not find my way through the house. I walked to the left, then found that I went to the right. I was constantly lost. It took nearly an hour for me to find the bathroom. When I went to the bedroom, I tried dozens of locked doors before coming to the only door that opened. A faint breeze blew down the main hallway and although I followed it, I could not find where it went. I fought the breeze to reach its beginning but the air stopped at a wall…”

January 28, 2017

“I was afraid of the parts of the man that were stuck between the floorboards, that wafted about the house like furred weeds, that balled up in the closet corners, that caught beneath the doors. There were so many little bits of him scattered around the house. I collected the pieces in old grocery bags, stuffing the plastic fat, then knotting the bags shut. The bags became pillows made of the man. I rested my head upon them. I hugged them and it was like hugging the man, but softer and with a more crinkly sound…”

January 27, 2017

“Into the hole went the last mirror I looked into, a piece of balled up paper with the man’s name written down the middle, an ink cartridge the man rolled on his tongue before spitting out. I threw in a piece of paper I tried using as a diary (I never got farther than writing the date, then an emotion, i.e., sad, disparate, melancholy, gloomy, claustrophobic, enraged). I threw in the packaging of an empty box that arrived addressed to the man. I threw in a tangle of dead flowers the man produced from the back of the closet, a button that came off my least-favorite blouse, the last bit of a roll of toilet paper…”

January 26, 2017

“There were bodies in the walls. The man was certain of it. Dry, brown-with-age bodies folded into the plaster. The man ran his hands over the walls, feeling for bumps and uneven patches. The man pointed out dark spots but the walls were equally dark. I squinted to see what he saw. The man took my hands. He held them to the wall and moved my hands in slow circles. He said: Do you feel it, do you feel it?…”