The Wild West

I was sitting in my backyard when it came. The yellowed grass, long dead, changed colors. A dark, oozing blob came rolling in between the fence-posts. The ground seemed to be disappearing below my feet, swallowing me up. I felt my limbs as they lost chunks of meat; my body disappeared.

I remember thinking, while looking at the blue sky, about the days back east, where clouds still existed and forests still existed and life still existed. The days spent in my own room on the bottom floor, with a large sliding glass door opening to a small segment of grass, then a row of trees and a road. When it rained outside I didn’t have to leave. I could stay in that room, that neutral colored and feeling room, and be myself.

That was a long time ago. This dark blob, mixed with my skin and hair, comparatively, felt more present. I could feel some gnawing at my neck by this point and was certain I didn’t have much time. Beneath me was a sea of darkness and blood, and above me the blue sky blanketed my vision. I couldn’t see the sun; it didn’t seem to be in the air. The blob bubbled and snarled at me with its teeth.

The ability to sit and lie had disappeared, with the rest of my body, by the time the sky above me started to turn orange. It felt, at that point, like there was nothing left of me but my eyes. In fact, yes, they were probably all that remained, save for a few small bits of grey matter. I didn’t care much. I didn’t care much at all. Looking at the sky is a calming experience once your body disappears. I had no itches, no pains, no troubles.

By the time I saw the moon, I did not have a single thought. My eyes started bouncing around on the blob. They danced around and I saw the world in such an array of colors as I had never seen before. My imminent death was no problem. It really wasn’t. This dance went on for about an hour, then the blob gave up. My eyes dropped underneath it, and to the ground. I could see hundreds of legs from this angle; they danced around, with some jumping up from the ground and others not moving at all. The grass felt wet for the first time in a year, on account of the blood. I saw my right-most toe a little ways away. It is funny how the most insignificant parts of ourselves are often the only parts left behind.

I was the discarded part. One eye stared at the dead grass and blood below me and the other at the dark blob above me, and my being, my consciousness, came to a conclusion about life, as, apparently, a few bits of mind had escaped the darkness as well. Life was alright, and really not that bad. The blob started to move. It was a wild pack of dogs: they jumped, one at a time, over the side of the fence opposite of where they emerged, leaving blood and debris throughout my backyard. I decided I would clean it up tomorrow. I fell asleep. When I awoke, it was morning.

wild west story writing dog blob eyes disembodiment east maxwell bland life

Holes in Me

I was pushing a paperclip
through the skin on the
tips of my fingers
between danger and pain
The paperclip would leave
holes in me
where it entered
and exited the
On my thumb,
I pushed to make another
tunnel between light and dark,
and the
Slipped into the blood and
pain of my body.

alt lit poetry late undecided skin paperclip marks maxwell bland