The Trip

I’m squatting on the knuckle of a giant earthen hand, whose fingers are lazily swaying in a lake of fluid mercury.  The deep blue sky is littered with the ivory skeletons of soldiers clashing with the endless vertebrae of serpents.  I feel like a point of light.  Sometimes, I forget I’m even here.

Someone’s behind me.  It’s her—Impossible!—standing away from the shore, watching me.  I scurry over a bed of skyward faces, their mouths gaped open.  Falling to my knees, I embrace her, resting my head between her pale breasts.  Oh god, I loved you so much…  I did this because of you…  Her skin becomes bone, unyielding, cold.  Cracks worm up her body.  I look up at her.  Her chiseled face looks straight away.  Chunks of her head are missing.

Pulling away, I’m startled at the sight of my arms, surprised I have a body.  The pinpricks inside my arm are still bleeding a little.  Bubbles under my skin travel to the punctures, slowly at first, then faster.  Much faster.  Snakes geyser out of the holes, snapping at my face.

Pain slices through my chest, dropping me on my back.  I open my tearing eyes to a blood sky.  Purple lava spurts out of the side of a nearby hill, threatening to overtake me.  Tribal drums beat in the distance, the beat in sync with the throb of pain.  She finally moves, peering down at me, smiling, her head whole.  The beat grows irregular.  I smile as I cross the thin line between everything and nothing.

David Downey


This vignette, as well as several other short stories, are published in Goddess.


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