On a semi-busy street, almost like lunchtime in a college town, sits a small Mom-n-Pop coffee shop. A tea colored sign reading Industria casts a shadow of cool relief over the patio on an unusually warm day in Oregon.

Mismatched tables cluttered the walk, a few of them home to chatter and gossip of the locals. Near the door of the establishment sits a woman paler than pure mountain snow with dark hair tied in a knotted clump on the top of her head. To her left sits a letter opener, a quil, and an inkwell that is desperate for a refill, she sits hunched with her head in her hands and a pen in her mouth.

A furrowed brow suggests she’s deep in thought and a closer look would reveal her bottom lip to be utterly abused and shredded from nervous chewing. Paper covered in scribbles and crossed out lines seem to be the center of her frustrations.

“I,” a heavy sigh, “Fuck!” concerned glances from passersby, she quiets her tone but continues her thought, “I can’t do this. It’s this stupid-” She growls and looks at the near empty inkwell. The pen clatters against mesh steel and the letter opened replaces it in her left hand, she’s done this enough times to know that speed is better than accuracy. The pain will come, but better it come after the deed is done. In a quick movement a thick black liquid begins to seep from the fresh wound on her wrist. Refills never left scars, but they seemed to hurt more than any other wound. She held her wrist above the well and let it drip, glancing around to ensure no one was too curious. The process feels excessively long and she is terrified of being caught, there’s no real way to explain the ink dripping from her veins.

“Stupid fucking curse.” She muttered angrily, “Stupid fucking Disney movie evil step-mother.” One last squeeze and she began to wrap the wound in a bandage she always kept handy in her pocket. The veins down her arm showed a deep black through her paper skin- which was annoying and revealing, but no one would think it real.

With one final exasperated sigh, she brought an ornate quil out of the bag hanging on her wobbly chair and dipped it in the fresh ink. Whatever I write is true, whatever I create becomes my reality.

“Makes it such a pain to edit.” Mel dug through the destroyed white paper for a fresh page and began writing once more, occasionally glancing at her first draft in regular pen.

#superhero #comic #evilstepmother #powers #shortstory

There is nothing quite like the feel of a fresh sheet stretched over icy leather couch cushions. A cool autumn breeze from the cracked window that lets the suns warm rays seep in behind you as a cold wet cloth sits on your forehead. You feel it warming with every second, almost like it is sucking your fever into itself. The empty bucket placed on the floor has just been cleaned, the remainder of cool bath water used to wash it out releases an odd smell in the wind, but it isn’t unpleasant. A book rests on your chest, your stomach is churning. Whether the feeling is from illness or hunger- you are not sure. You reach for the glass of clear soda left on the coffee table for you, it has created a puddle of condensation that has dampened the paper towel full of crumbs where half a piece of toast sits becoming stale and lukewarm.

The soda is a cold stream going down your throat, with a most satisfying gulp you can feel the liquid tickle and race to your stomach. A sensation that would have made you queazy only hours ago has become relaxing.

You close your eyes and listen to the chirping birds outside. Fall alseep.

Right now, its a syrupy sweet that you get from putting too much extra vanilla in your fountian drink. The franchise soda underneath completely overwhelemed by the bitter sweetness that sticks to the back of your throat. A 25 year old soul in the year 2019 tastes like an unbalanced recipe. There is still much to fine tune and fix, more to learn about the flavors as you decide what after taste you want stuck to the world once your gone.

Uhg, it hurts.

Crusty, dried bile sits in the back of my throat like sand. It doesn’t necessarily hurt as much as it makes me want to vomit more. Well, I assume I’ve vomited. I’m not sure which would be worse: vomit or sand in the back of my throat. God, my mouth’s dry. I take a deep breath through my nose and exhale with a cringe as the smell of something fowl races out of my lungs.

Okay, so Malibu is now on the ‘Do Not Drink in Excess’ list. It *should* be on the ‘Do Not Drink AT ALL’ list, but I have a a sweet tooth when it comes to- ugh. Oh god.

My stomach churned at the thought of anything alcoholic, like a small gremlin has crawled into my body and decided that anything remotley close to the inhibitor should induce a form of punishment. That’s fair.

Alright, water. I neeeeeeeed water. And some sort of pain medcation. Like- stat. Hah, imma doctor.

A rough texture cuts into my cheeks and I realized I had smiled and laughed externally at my own lameness. Cool, hope no one’s around. I don’t wanna open my eyes to find out though, honestly. Especially because I am almost positive I have fallen asleep outdoors.

A gravel like substance is cradling my body that can only be natures own ground, unless there is some new fad with beds? Dumb fad, don’t make it a thing... or make it a thing and make millions- organic bedding: you have back problems because original humans slept on rocks! Dear lord, it’s sad because it would sell.

Okay, come on. upupup upup. Get up. Let’s go, new day. Stuff to do. was yesterday friday or sunday? Shit, am I missing work right now? UP.

I turn my head towards the warmth that was almost painful on my back and became blinded as a brightness that fought through my closed lids aggressively made its presence known. That is the sun, I’m definitley outside. Fuck dude. Where am I?

“Mmmmgrrrr” another deep breath through the nose, but this time I let the awful smell bring me around like smelling salts would a fainted fragile woman of the old days. Maybe if I pretend I’ve only fainted from the shock of some horrible telenovela-like news I’ll be less miserable. I am a LADY, after all.

The gravel shifts away and rushes towards my face, some getting into my nostrils as I huff loudly at my own dumb antics. I am not funny, stop laughing. Jesus. Water. Undo that “miracle” and make the wine in my system water once more. Please? Puleease?

A natural, harsh light offends my eyes as I finally relax my lids. Attempting to adjust to what must have been the midday sun, I open them slowly while rolling my body away from the shade I had either created myself or no doubt intelligently found last night. There is noise here, it’s dull though, like I was hearing it from under water. I yawn to pop my eardrums and regret the action immediatley.

Loud.

Very loud. So, confirmed there are people around, some of them screaming children- but not like terrified kind of scream, these kids sounded like they were having the time of their lives. Lucky.

There is definitley water downwind from me, the sound of waves hitting land was thunderous and very unwelcome and based on the smell of fresh salt water, I’m going to assume it’s the ocean. Now, that’s a problem. There is no ocean in Missouri yet, I’m pretty sure we still have a couple of years before the midwest becomes beachfront. So, to put it articulately- what the fuck.

I take a hit of physical pain to look around fully and see I am on a beach with far too many signs in spanish. Now, it’s been a while since I took spanish in University, but I’m pretty sure this is Mexican spanish. I really hope it is, because of all the spanish speaking countries to end up, Mexico is the closest to home.

It is now that I notice I have earned a small audience. Mostly children, a couple of teenagers and one adult rushing over to see what the ruckus is about. This must be what beached sea life felt like when it washes up in a tourist area.

“Hola.” The word was familiar but my voice was not, my vocal chords strained and screamed as I pushed the word past my damaged throat. Some of the children took a step behind others who put on a brave face, I was now some sort of monster to be faced. Great. “Como estas?” I coughed to clear the bile from my throat, and winced as I felt chunks of the fowl smelling stuff fall further down my esophagus. “Donde estoy?”

“Aye! Mama!” a shrill voice reverberated against my eardrums and wracked against my brain like a battery ram. Every part of my being wanted to curl into myself and shut this harsh offending world out, but a more rational part of me figured if me simply talking scared the young ones, I might get kicked with a sudden movement like that. I was some weird white lady on the beach after all. They probably thought something was wrong with me. I mean, there is, but still...

The adult went from speed walking to running as she heard what I could only assume was her child call out to her. She spoke quickly and harshly to the kids, who soon dissapated at her request. “Are you hurt?” Her tone was soft and gentle, refreshing compared to the other sounds from this place. Like a breath of fresh, non-pukey air.

I sat up slowly and assessed, I was definitley sore and weak but not injured. That’s good. “No, but I need help. Ayuda me? Where am I?”

“Ala Playas de Rosarito. Baja California, Mexico.” Cool.

Come with me

into the depths of darkness you’ll never enter alone.

Let your heart wretch and shiver while taking my hand.

Hesitate, and in that moment doubt your purity.

Every molecule that exists to be you vibrates rapidly,

an itch that cannot be scratched simply because it doesn’t exist on the material plane.

Vertebra which once held strong become gelatin,

my body collapses and I become a weapon against your breathing.

You inhale deeply in vain, and somehow your breath becomes shallow

air becomes sharp as ice against your throat as it rushes in to hit some invisible wall.

This must be what drowning feels like,

but there is no water here.

This is where fear, desperation,

all of those bad feelings you bury exist.

It’s not what you expected,

a room of white- so pristine you can’t imagine such nasty things residing here.

An openness that should only bring feelings of freedom,

a purity that should only bring a sense of safety.

When did this place become so sinister?

Your body is free to move, but you can’t get your brain to agree with that.

Muscles, that once held you strong and able, fail you here.

I have not laid you down, and yet,

here you lay- helpless.

I have not beat you into submission, nor forced, nor threatened-

you followed me and took my hand.

You wish to leave and plead that I release this spell upon you,

there is no spell nor trickery here.

I have brought you to a place you created,

and only you have the power to destroy.

You can sit up, stand even, and I will not stop you.

Until you decide I am no longer worth your time,

until you decide to reach out beyond yourself

and find an anchor to the world outside of this one...

I will be with you here,

Till the end.

violent

a mass rush to a finish line that may not even exist,

or one you may cross at any given moment.

destructive

grasping desperatly at anything you shove by,

in you eagerness you fail to notice the pieces you leave behind.

helpless

at a point you're not sure of your movements,

there is never a moment of stillness in this chaotic current.

calm

a stillness does not mean there is no movement,

despite the lack of whitecaps you are moving forward in a moment of peace.

vast

the finish line that was promised was a lie,

it seems to be the entry to a larger adventure.