Vignette: Still True

She liked her covers to be heavy, so she wouldn’t get cold when she slept. When she closed her eyes she felt the silent fluttering of wings, like a lover’s breath, hovering so near above her, threatening to unfold her in unadulterated passion. She understood that only love, only true love, could be this uncertain, and when possessed by occasional longing, she never wept half-way.

Silence was her sweetest comfort, but it rarely came when she found herself alone. Instead, there were shadows that clipped and buzzed in shadows, clapping and cracking and creaking and crackling. He had told her some of their secret names, these sins—the Arachnakids, the Spider Sisters, the Cobweboys—tiny notional monsters that rise from the sludge of broken wonders, growing in number with each little death of the imagination. He told her that they had as many names as there were forgotten stories.

She had her own names for them—Loneliness, Alienation, Fear, Despair. Mockery and Condemnation, Guilt and Shame and Failure. Judgement. Lies. Disillusionment.
Some nights were different, but most nights were like this.

The clock stood still. The air became warm. The room grew dark. And then there was the sound of rain pattering on the window, calling her back again, back to the place of their secret meetings.

“Where are you? I’m here.”

“I have classes tomorrow. I can’t meet you. I’m sorry.”

“Come to me, please. I just want to see you. Please.”

“There’s no time. I have to wake up.”

“Please.”

And she felt his pleading in her gut, sinking in, becoming unbearable. The covers were no longer warm. They suffocated her and she pushed up slightly in order to breathe. There were voices and shadows all over her, and she found herself echoing his “please” in her mind:

“Take me anywhere with you. Take on my spine and spit shine it. Pull on my heart and unwind it. “

“Come to me, please. Tell me I’m still true. Hold me close in the rain and feel me. Fold my wings back on my shoulder blades, and peel me.”

“If I could be like you…”

“If I could be like you…”

Then the rain stopped abruptly, cruelly, and she found herself crying again. Dawn had come, he was gone. And the Arachnakids were there again, roistering around her heart with blades drawn, stabbing and stabbing.

“Grow up, stupid girl.”