Heterocera

by ~grapefruitgeorgie

there's a moth on my ceiling. that's how this story begins. not with a once upon a time or a something of any form of interest. no, a moth is good enough for me. well, not really, due to my insane irrational fear of moths. but then again it's not just moths that i'm afraid of. it's being alone for the rest of my life, the number 8, wheelchairs, cracked pavements and the colour purple. i know there are more reasonable things to be scared of; muggings, rape, murder, lightening strikes and cheese. but moth's are good enough.

the moth is what got me into this position, one you will learn about in good time. you see i can't be in the same room with a moth. i'm an insomniac, and spend my nights wasting time on meaningless websites, reading meaningless words, and making meaningless contributions to the internet community with what i believe to be artsy insights into the lives of myself and those around me. couldn't be farther from the truth, really. i never really planned anything and just wrote what came to my head, so in the end what appeared to fill up the white was actually just pretentious backwash from and underused and overeducated mind. an overeducated brilliant mind that lets out a little high pitched moan everytime it catches glimpse of thats certain form of heterocera. so i left the room, went downstairs, turned on the coffee machine (which, in hindsight isn't really a clever move for an insomniac) and sat cross legged on the floor to see what mindless drivel was on the television. nothing, as usual. well, nothing of interest to me. 800 channels and nothing to watch, oh, the irony. i'd have retreated to the comfortable confines of cyberspace but, alas, my laptop was upstairs along with that which was keeping me from my sanctuary.

i look around. the room is the family room, yet somehow alien. pictures of people i don't know are hung on the walls. these people are strangers to me and yet my blood is flowing through their veins, and mine theirs. gushing out through my aortic valve into the aorta and pulsing through their bodies. we were all interconnected, and yet i don't know their names, birthdays, how they did in school and what they felt when grandad died. all interconnected and yet i feel myself inching further away with every pump and every passage through every millimetre of every ventricle. i feel calm, everything is still. everything is silent. i cannot hear my own breath but if i concentrate hard enough i can feel small pockets of oxygen stroking the small concave dip in every cell, synapses sending currents through my body telling my heart it's to carry on beating the blood. the thick red blood that i can feel pushing it's way through my veins. i imagine if were to i cut myself i would flow like an ocean into every corner of the room, creep up the stairs and drown my family in hot life. i make a mental note to stay away from all things sharp.

my blissful digression is interrupted by a bang one hundred yards behind my back . not just any old bang, an interesting bang. and then a chorus of barking. in comparison the guttural seems pale when put against the metallic. such a shame. i almost long for the bang again. beg, plead, pray. i do not believe in god, however my love for the rule of three compels me to say the latter. more guttural noises tease my ears. instinct takes hold and i slowly stand. tense tones and angry words. raised voices scream colourful words under the cover of darkness. i see green, red, navy, ochre, tangerine, azure. my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. under the sheets of my room i have missed life as it crashed about me. suddenly the door is open. my lungs, which have grown used to stale sticky air feast on freshness. the cold makes me gasp. more metallic bangs. i'm on the street, and i'm filled with a feeling of not quite understanding how i got to be in this situation. a girl with braids runs past, screaming something incoherent. she turns on her way, and gives me a look. there's a hundred leagues of hate in those eyes, and yet they appear to be the most beautiful shade of green. i feel captivated by those eyes and feel another pretentious poem enter me, about how they eyes are just a cover story, and if you were to swim in them, you'd discover the beautiful green was actually a toxin, and then 8 months later your limbs would drop off and your unborn baby would resent you for ever learning to swim. this thought was cut loose by the remembrance of the moth, the laptop and the bedroom. and i'd forgotten how to write with my hands.

this is where i am now, looking into those eyes. they're the only pretty thing about her. spotty skin and greasy hair. a body fed on nicotine, alcohol, benzoymethyl ecognine and hopefully cyanide. i feel as if i have to hate her. she has a vicious backstory full of rape, murder, drugs and gang warfare. all the things i'm supposed to be afraid of. and yet those eyes. they captivate me. i have a sudden urge to run back inside and curl up inside my sock drawer. but those eyes. they hold me there. more colour assaults my ears, acommpanied by the metallic and then there's a sharp feeling in my shoulder. but those eyes. they widen and seem to change colour. there's another pain, this time in my lower back. i come to the conclusion that i've been stung by a hornet. it'll carry on stinging until i am dead. but those eyes. they hold me there, and i don't notice the shouting, or the fact i'm slowly sinking to my knees. there's a mouth below those eyes, and it moves. i hear it and i don't hear it. the world blends into one. more guttural noises tease my ears. instinct takes hold and i slowly stand. tense tones and angry words. raised voices scream colourful words under the cover of darkness. i see green, red, navy, ochre, tangerine, azure. my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. i fall.

lights appear in front of my retinas and taunt me with their displays.
hands touch me yet i hardly notice them. the sweetest voice in my ear whispers "steady, hold her steady. stop!"
i feel myself seeping into the cracks of the pavement.
i see purple.
i feel warmth bubbling out of my shoulders, back, ears, nose, mouth, eyes.
i feel each muscle tense and then melt off of the bone in blessed relaxation.
i remember something i want to watch on television tomorrow.
i remember names, birthdays, how i did in school and what i felt when grandad died
i feel the hot life in my mouth. drowning in myself. 8 seconds go by. i no longer fear it.
there's a moth on my ceiling. and this is how i died.