The refrigerator's out. It's not running. So any wise-ass who want's to call me should just do it now. The mist rising from the rotten fruit is driving me crazy, but I can't touch it. It's black and hangs in the air. I can feel it inside my lungs, eating me like it ate the fruit. I can't move, I can't even close my eyes, and they are starting to come around my face. I can feel the few loner particles, the beasts, on the soft curve of my eye. The jump in and out of my vision. They are biting at my fingernails, in the cracks. They look for any open pore with which they could benefit from my inability to react. They are digging cleaning and chewing on my scalp, and I can still smell the rot of the meat on them, as they bounce around overfeeding themselves, gulping down my sweat and slobber
My brother Tom is lying on the floor, and I've never seen him so still. I think he had a heart attack. The black specks are peppering the foam circle around his mouth. His body has grown a pale blue, the black pollution makes it seem gray in the mid-day haze. I haven't eaten, I don't want to. They might get totally inside. I think they want to my brain. I think something in them knows that that is all I have. That's all I ever had.
I could feel the flowing caress of the carrion, the stench stewed with mold spore and disease. Tom shouldn't have done what he did. He shouldn't have had that man come. Just 'cause I can talk through a box. Tom only took me for the caregiver money. I didn't mind, it's better to be with him than in the home. We were drinking and tired when I started rambling on about holistic medicine. Somehow in the night Tom got the idea to go find some kind of spiritual healer.
Tom grew tired and irritated when dealing with my daily needs. I don't know where he met the man in the gray suit. He came in drunk, had said he found a shaman. I looked at the man, he looked at me with a rich fake smile. I thought it may have just been a pleasantry to mask his initial pity for me and my disability. The carcass and the talking box, like a magic show, and the lead role is given to this graying slick dude who knows a bit about voodoo. Or some dark art, pulled out rustled rusted sheets of paper. Incantations and sacred elements. Strong magnets and transistors in a case he carried by his side. The case was deep, dark, red and black leather with gold straps.
He talked to me carefully and slowly, "Hello David, I'm Dr. Solomon and I'm going to try to help you today, your brother told me that you would like to walk again, is it ok with you if I go ahead and try to repair your still body?". He was sweaty and
"Yes, but how does it work?" My carefully preened digital voice echoed out through computer speakers.
"Well David it's complicated and the best way for me to do it is just to show you."
He said this while dropping his case and opening it in the middle of the floor. There were electronics exposed and smooth steel parts that pointed to the center like cranes drinking from a pool. Red and black stitching were exposed, creating a border of twisted red and black ivy for the papers which he placed over smooth foreign symbols resembling the alphabet.
"Tom, please close the windows and unplug any televisions or radios you have in the home." Thomas was pale and drunk, he unplugged the nearest television and walked out of the room.
"David, this is going to work. You can trust me and relax, you may feel some discomfort, but it's going to be worth it."
"Hope is loss Dr."
"Bah, your attitude shall soon change my friend." He looked at me and at the cable as he plugged the machine into the wall.
The machine started humming at a low speed, the crane heads spinning smoothly in the center. Tiny tubes slid a light green liquid between gears and into quiet machined metal. Circuit boards were twisted and melded with wires, going to a tiny display screen the man quickly began to inspect. Thomas came in with a sandwich and a glass of milk, he sat on the couch staring at the machine, and sitting down his milk.
I felt strange, and had nothing to say. I sat, eyes blinking on regular timing, wondering more than wishing. The man looked at me as if to ask if I were ready. I said nothing.
He pulled a thin black microphone up from the base of the case and adjusted it in front of his mouth. Looked to my brother and me, then down to the paper with a sharp grin.
" Kgheim slas jeseuan.."
The machine whirred faster and light started coming out of the smooth reflective base.
"aa arudisav a iiii-ooo satasmana oh ao..."
Another reflective disk grew out of the air above the blurred crane heads, and a spark threw out from the circuit board.
I felt the air grow thick, like I was choking on pasty gas. Time slowed down and I only saw flashes. I couldn't hear anything besides the whirring and crackling of the machine. I saw Thomas slipping forward on the couch, spilling his milk slowly, between fan blades of time. It was like looking through slivered glass, but everything inside was fighting with the solidity of being. It closed us all in, encapsulated us in hardening matter, the machine still worked. A light hit and my mind went blank. I was in the middle of a twisted dream, but I only held on to a few strings of story before I woke up.
The food was already stinking, not as bad as now. Tom's not saying a word, no matter how much I calmly state that we need help, because I CAN"T FUCKING YELL IT through god damned Micro Sam's speech fucking generator.
I hope the gnats choke on my flesh. I can feel them burrowing, burrying eggs inside of my skull. In my ears tickling, and digging into my clothes. Black covers my eyes and only flicks of distant light appear in my vision. I let go of the tension. I bury myself in the darkness, i detach myself from all the exterior feelings. The insects writhe throughout my being, I hear their buzzing and slurping, I imagine their little mouths and shiny eyes, cleaning their wings and faces after gorging on a gooey chunk of eye tissue.
Oh, the dream.
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