The Inevitable Strain
Flayed. Aching. Sleepless.
Philadelphia pavement vomits
thunder, every sound like collapse.
My night had been a battlefield
full of gin, sweat, and tension.
Way past midnight, far from
sober, I sat up in bed
and reached for the bottle.
I wanted to pour another dose
but the gin was empty.
It reminded me of a brittle
seashell. I felt the urge to throw
the glass husk across my bedroom.
I was a leaking animal.
I wanted to hear it shatter.
Instead I sprang up from bed
to walk the empty to the kitchen.
Stepping into my living room
I saw him. A man standing there,
staring directly at me.
He turned my spine into an icicle.
He wore a dark blue uniform.
It looked like a fabric second skin.
I couldn’t see any zippers
or buttons. It was unlike any
clothes I know. He was covered
from the middle of his neck
down to his ankles. Black shoes.
Black gloves. Tiny eyes.
Huge smile. Too perfect teeth.
The only skin I could see was
his face. It was bright white
and lumpy. He had no hair on
his head. Not even eyelashes.
He looked like he was melting,
or wearing a mask from
a horror film. He looked
like a nightmare.
Impossibly repellent.
He spoke.
“WE ARE 3:33 A.M.
WHEN IS YOUR TIME?”
It was the voice of a drowning
robot. Loud. Angry. Inhuman.
It terrified me and I panicked.
I had a baseball bat
in my bedroom. I dropped the
bottle, turned around,
and stumbled immediately.
I fell into my bedroom
and tried to calm down while
I grabbed the bat. Showing
weakness is dangerous.
I needed to take control.
I steadied myself and walked
back toward the intruder,
it was my turn
to speak.
“Hey! I didn’t eat
off your plate.
Right now you’re trespassing!
You’re in the wrong apartment.
Trust me!”
I brandished the bat and
he stood still, like he didn’t
hear me at all.
That monster smile on
his face the whole time.
Until he spoke again.
Furious and glitchy.
“WE ARE HERE FOR
WHAT IS OURS.
LIGHT, BACKBONE, AND SPARK.
YOUR LIGHT. YOUR BACKBONE.
YOUR SPARK.”
I lunged at him and swung
the bat at his left arm.
I figured I would disable
both his arms, then this fight
would be won. Nobody
has to die here. The second
my weapon should have
struck him, something I can’t
explain happened. The bat
vanished. It was just gone,
like it was edited out.
The man didn’t even move.
I got the feeling that he was
going to speak again.
I wouldn’t hear another word
of it. My blood boiling,
fists clenched, I attacked
like a savage. That’s where
my memory turns black.
I woke up on my living room
floor the next morning.
I felt like a trapped animal.
I was shaking
as I stood up
and searched the apartment.
I could find no trace
of the intruder.
The empty gin bottle
and the baseball bat
were back in my bedroom.
I was on the verge of
completely falling apart.
I desperately searched
for what was missing.
Surely the man had taken
what he came for. He must
have. I found nothing
unaccounted for, and I
don’t have many possessions.
I want clarity and I need
answers. I’m left with
dread, fear, and questions.