Me, [[my mother]], and my grandmother, share a two bedroom [[apartment]] on the ground floor. My mother was notably less [[punctual]] than [[my father.|daddy]] The general consensus of those who bothered to attend [[her funeral]] was that she had lived much longer than anyone had expected, making her tardy [[in death]] as well as [[life]].
It was the only apartment building on the block, and stood two stories high. There were six apartments, three on each floor. On the first floor, there was [[one on the right]], [[one on the left]], and [[one in the back]], connected by a hallway which was almost entirely staircase.She never once made it to an appointment on time in her forty eight years on Earth. She had never bothered to show up any of my important events, of which there were few anyway. She would, however, descend [[in times of hardship.]]
She was so inherently tardy that in a serendipitous turn of events her casket was lost in transit temporarily. No one was surprised. No one could be angry anymore. This was the last time she would make them wait.My mother's body was the inarguably beautiful shell of [[a walking corpse.|zombie]]
She had murdered and buried herself, building [[new women]] in her place recursively.She inspired intense feelings exclusively. She spent her days crafting a web which
fooled most on a surface level, but in the right light [[you could see it clearly]] and in its complex totality.
She played the part of mother expertly, seamlessly, and undetectably, to all except me. When she played nurse, my sickness seemed to [[rejuvenate]] her.
My mother would plant seeds of despair in me. When it was time for harvest, she would bask in my misery. Photosynthesizing. My mother seemed to bloom, then disappear again, looking six months younger.
My condition only worsened at the waxing and waning of [[her presence.|mommy]]
On occasion, I found myself momentarily comforted by the idea of a mother. By fault of this biological disposition, I betrayed myself. I’d find myself hoping against all [[logic]] for a mother’s sincerity. I could not avoid it. I was always disappointed.
I would use all my remaining strength to retain that distinction of [[reality]] and [[myth.]]
My reality was isolation. Love was a myth.I would drive approximately six and a quarter miles to his building on days I needed an ice bath in the form of my father's [[frigidity.]] He wouldn’t stand to greet me when I’d stop by. Sometimes I think some steeliness could wake me up. A [[paternal scalpel.]] His eyes would shift and dart and attach to whatever inspired [[neutral emotion.]]
He’d avoid what made him [[uncomfortable.]] It opened a [[pit in his chest and tightened his throat.]]I sought a concrete confirmation of my unlovable nature and the failure of our connection. I never had to ask, it was a silent agreement between us. My father would always deliver. His parenting consisted of symbiotic self harm routines wherein we could play [[the parts we love to play most.]] The lightly frayed corners of the cool grey couch cushions.
A cup full of neatly placed identical black ballpoint pens.
The suffocated plant in a pot without a hole for drainage.
My cloudy eyes, like my mother's, like murky spring water.
How my voice had changed.An emotion he identified as anger.Martyr and autocrat.This abandoned husk was hosted by [[parasites]] of her own invention long before she killed herself on the physical plane. She was a ghost of a ghost in life.Each woman in her had a role to play in harmony. [[Sometimes lover|daddy]], [[sometimes mother|mommy]], [[sometimes monster|zombie]], [[sometimes human.]]If you listened closely, you could hear them eating her alive. From the inside out.It was remarkable that she could present as one whole solidified person. Her existence was illusionary and incredible.You could catch it in her gaze, just beyond the surface, in her most believably sincere moments. It [[reflected]] in her expanded pupils, like a jaw agape. Once you saw it, the only thing worse was [[what lie beyond it.|empty]]I see it in myself, [[this thing which I rebuke|empty]], which has made my hatred of my mother transmute into a total hatred of myself. I try to [[exercise and cleanse|religion]] myself of it, literally and metaphysically, every single day. To no avail. What evil I inherited.Insatiable vacancy. Emptiness.My whole life, I despised the hole in my chest. When I felt that something was missing, I knew now what it was. [[Faith.]] I turned to religion cataclysmically. It was this or [[drown.]]There are no residents here.
There is a resident here.My grandmother uses [[the master bedroom.]]
At the end of the hall is [[the spare bedroom.]]
You can enter into the main room to see the [[sitting area and kitchen.]]
There is a single bathroom between the two rooms. The door handle is round, bronze, and corroded from frequent use. The door to the master bedroom is [[locked.]] The spare bedroom is used for storage from floor to ceiling, mostly full of various outdated fabrics and stacked furniture. A wooden [[crucifix|religion]] hangs beside the door, between the frame and a light switch. The kitchen and living room make up the main room. They are connected and bookended by the front and back door. There is one pull out [[couch in the living room]], which doubles as the dining room, and faces [[the kitchen.]] In the fall and winter, most of the main room is used for storage overflow. In spring and summer however, most of [[the backyard]] is used instead.When she enters and exits, for a moment you can see a pale yellow paisley patterned duvet cover and the corner of a full size bed. There is a tiffany lamp on a single nightstand that seems to always be on. Every morning and night at the foot of the couch I [[recite something to God.]]I was comforted by the idea of having some heavenly figure looming in and around my body. Some sort of gentle father, to watch and praise me. To impress. An innocent and holy mother to admire and relate to. An audience to react and receive and command. An ever presence. A rhyme and reason. [[It might be reason enough.]]Something like this: “Dear whatever is out there, or up there. Or down there. Whoever is around. Thank you for my health. Thank you for my father's health so he may continue to live alone until he passes. Thank you for every day of the week.”I believe my chosen piety might be enough to exhume me from the fate of
the women in my family, either [[in life]] or by chance of Heaven. If I, too, succumb to
suicide, this lifestyle might give me a leg up in the afterlife. At least I try. [[My ritual soothes me.]]
I gave up men and sex. I gave up solid foods, and invested in a wonderfully powerful blender. Every morning, I draw a [[bath.]]Still, somehow, I can't seem to ward away what [[evil|empty]] pries. Most every night I lay sleepless, admonishing the deepening chasm in the center of my soul.Epsom salts, rosemary, and powdered milk, dissolved in hot water. I soak for at least an hour. I then dry and wrap my torso, upper arms, and upper legs, [[in muslin cut into gauze like strips.]] I tuck rose petals inside methodically, which over time have dyed the lightweight fabric pink.
These strips are covered in [[scrawling]].
It was a one-of-a-kind mummy type Temple Garment, which I hope to live, die, and be buried in.
Then I slip a [[modest black Spandex body suit]] over my garment, and enjoy the companionship of the words of Gods.
There are a variety of verses from canonical bibles, some non-canonical, but the text mostly consists of glyphs. I also included [[various quotes]] which I felt had religious context. Of which I own seven.Among these quotes, “Live long and prosper” and “The Thing: It’ll fight if it has to, but it’s vulnerable out in the open. If it takes us over, then it has no more enemies. Nobody left to kill it. Then it’s won.” and just for the hell of it “Yabba Dabba Do!”When the couch is in its natural condition, the cushions are bouncy and plush.
The couch pulls out into a [[bed.]]The kitchen is mostly made of [[linoleum.]]
We are the only residents with access to the backyard. The yard is split in half by the sliding glass door. There is a [[right side]] and [[left side]].The pull out mattress is lined with inescapable rows of metal spirals. My mother and I were meant to share. Whenever she was home, I would make the bed for us. It was once much lighter in color, dulled by ancient impenetrable [[stains]] over passing decades. It seems to be perpetually coated in a [[visually undetectable]] film. which is unpredictably sticky, waxy, or greasy.It contains asbestos. The entire right side is infiltrated with a maze of precariously-stacked [[containers.]] This maze typically overflowed beyond the halfway point of the yard. The left side was mostly empty except for a strangely persistent and misshapen [[tree.]]
These once-clear now-murky water-damaged and yellowing containers are heavy and [[full.]] The sapling receives almost no light.
It grew to around six feet tall and stopped.
Its limbs are bare. Things like antique collected dish ware, a variety of cracked ceramics and ornaments, and costume jewelry which was surprisingly convincing, wrapped tightly (though haphazardly) in newspaper and moth bitten blankets.