The Anticipation of Consequence

The fools thumb their noses,
Crowding together in defiance of infection,
A riot of individuals blending but not uniting.
They swing their naivete as blunt cudgels,
Recklessly, callously, indiscriminately -
They do not care or notice whom they strike.

Their cheers and screams are muted in the parlor.
The window is closed -
The sashes are drawn.

The clock ticks up and up,
Counting time and counting consequences.

Six feet apart,
Shoulders squared,
We stare into our tea.

"10K today," you say.
Your teacup does not tremble.
The china does not clink.

"Probably," I reply.
The tea gleams darkly.
The liquid swirls turbulently.

We do not yell out the windows.
There is honey in the tea;
Our voices are hoarse.

The clock ticks up into the grim, expectant quiet.

How (Not) to Love a Monster

I can tell you that I love you how ever many times you want, sing it like a litany and a leitmotif in your presence, but there's no veracity inherent in repetition. I cannot learn an emotion like a nineteenth century schoolboy, reciting the Iliad again and again until it comes out perfect, every meter of every verse. But I can say the words if they'll make your eyes slip shut in pleasure and relief, sigh and let your shoulders drop. If I say I love you, then you are safe, you will insist.

But monsters like me don't feel emotions like humans - like you. You can run your palms along my skin and prick yourself on my thorns, and I can marvel at how velvet soft your flesh feels beneath my lips, but I'll always have fangs where you have teeth, and I'll always be hungry where you might be sated. I can tell you that I love you, with forked tongue and golden claws hooked into vulnerable meat. It won't even be a lie - but it can never be strictly true.

And if there are nights where you marvel, I have tamed the beast, as I lay stretched out and bloody at your feet, then that deception is all on you. I will wear the mask you give me, let you fuss with feathers and fine fabrics, dress me up like the solicitous romantic you've always wanted, serenade you with a script you wrote. They will only ever be words and stage directions to me, quietly stalking you through the forest of your illusions and waiting for you to stumble.

The Four Housewives of the Apocalypse

            The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (although these days they mostly drive sedans and minivans) meet every Wednesday afternoon at the local coffee house, about an hour before they all have to go pick up their kids from their assorted after-school practices.

            “How’s Cindy doing these days?” War asks Pestilence. “How did her audition for the dance team go?”

            Pestilence takes a sip of her free-trade rooibos, expertly avoiding getting her Burt’s Bees lipgloss on the china.

            “She made it of course – I never doubted all those ballet lessons would pay off, although she swears the deciding factor was the hiphop – silly, of course, technique is what really sells coaches – but I don’t know if I’ll let her join.” Her botoxed brow attempts to furrow. “They want her to get some vaccines before she starts coming to practices, and I don’t want to put those poisons in her body.”

            Death sighs over the double shot of espresso she’s nursing. Her long fingers are about the same shade of white as the cup.

            “The medical-industrial complex worms it’s way into everything,” she tuts. “I can’t tell you how frustrating it makes my job. I swear, I have to check my palm-pilot hourly to make sure the list of reaps hasn’t changed. One person will drop off because they went to the ER and another will appear because some pharmacist filled their prescription with a defective generic.”

            Famine pauses in reapplying her Estee Lauder lipstick, her skinny frap going largely ignored. “And they make our government pay for those complications, too! I swear, everyone just wants free hand-outs every which way!”

            “Did you hear they’re talking about slashing the military budget for this Obamacare boondoggle?” War offers up. “As though paying for drug addicts’ fixes is more important than national defense!”

            They all make accordant “hms” of anger.

            “This world isn’t for long at all,” Death says.

            They share small smiles as they all take sips of their drinks.

Other

Sometimes my succubus sits uncomfortably close to the surface, blood hunger, claws, and pointed teeth. I want to purr and lick a lover's blood off my fingertips, kiss their lips and turn their chin red with their own essence. It's a slow and sensual violence, gasps of pleasure indistinguishable from moans of pain. My fangs are sharp and my sex is wet, and I could take you, hurt you, make you breathlessly beg me for every minuscule bit more. I may seem sweet, even laughably harmless, but you would be foolish to forget that my human skin conceals a predator who revels in leisurely taking lovers apart.

A Hard Conversation, draft two

"Is it really so bad that you need to do this?" Kayla's fingers dug into my arm. "Do you really feel so terrible?"

I didn't jerk away, but I found it a bit difficult to maintain eye contact. Her brown eyes shone with liquid, and her lips parted, corners down-turned.

"Yes," I said. If my voice broke, I didn't acknowledge it. "This is not what I want for myself. But -"

Kayla swallowed hard. I took a steadying breath.

"But this is a good offer," I continued. "You know what it's like to live every day of your life without pain, or even fatigue, regardless of which realm you're in. I only get that sort of freedom when I travel."

A tear escaped the bounds of her lashes and trickled down her cheek.

"They're offering me a chance to stay, Kayla. They're offering me so much freedom."

Her nails caught at my skin as she pulled away, crossing her arms over her chest. I knew better than to reach for her, even as my throat closed up and my stomach dropped.

"All you have to do is stay there forever," she finished for me. "All you have to do is leave everyone else in your life behind."

I closed my eyes as I felt my own tears break from my control. My voice came out in a strained whisper.

"That's the gist, yeah."

I Know, Draft Three

"I know."

I didn't look up from the program I had open in Netbeans, continuing to set up the various objects I needed to create a useful calendar for Dr. Nexus's extra credit assignment.

"Good for you," I drawled. "Give yourself a cookie."

"No. I mean, I know why you're always sick."

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a long moment, before slowly turning my head, one eyebrow raised sharply, to look at the cretin who dared to address me.

Derek Delphi, the mouth-breathing no-lube jack-off cretin in question, apparently took that as an invitation.

He swung out the chair at the spot next to me, flopping back into it and lacing his fingers behind his head.

"Yup," he repeated. "I know why you're sick."

"Oh?" My voice was dry and flat to contrast his self-satisfied sing-song. "Do share what has taken a platoon of medical specialists more than twenty-one years to fail to discover. And then share your methodology, because I'm sure there's a Nobel prize in your future."

Derek smirked and took in a deep breath that puffed out his chest. I'm sure he heard a drum roll in his head.

I stared at him balefully.

"You're... not human," he declared.

I felt the wings on my back - the ones that weren't really there and that no one could see - twitch, but I managed to control my expression.

Not so much the exasperated sigh.

"An interesting if irrelevant conclusion, Dick."

He dropped his hands and sat up, the back of the chair springing upright with a thump.

"It's Derek."

I turned back to my schoolwork.

"You sure?" I asked lightly. "I thought you knew."

I kept my eyes on my code as Derek huffed, stood up, and hovered over me, casting a shadow on my laptop screen. As far as I was concerned, this interaction was over.

"Snake," he spat.

I continued typing out objects in Java.

It was another few seconds before his shadow left my screen as he stalked out of the lab.

Faces, Draft Two

"Strip that face off," she commanded.

"Are you sure this is the right time?" I asked. My eyes darted, taking in the dark recesses of the concrete nook, the fluorescent light sharply intruding from down the hallway, the slash of my colleague's mouth. We were alone, but my heart continued to race. "I think they might notice if these two disappeared."

She hissed, a low, harsh sound, air against fangs.

"We have bungled this mission. These faces are compromised. We must abandon this strategy and utilize another tactic." Her tongue clicked angrily, three times in quick succession. "You are silly, Salah. It is foolish to become emotionally invested in a face."

I rolled my spine, extending the sharp bones that this face did not wear in embarrassed threat.

"We can still utilize these faces, Grear," I insisted. "Their leader cares for this specimen - " I tapped a claw against my cheek "- and will forgive our transgressions against their laws if I continue to wear the likeness of her mate. We can make this work."

Grear narrowed her eyes in the human expression of anger.

"No. There is too much risk in relying on human affections. I am invoking the Statute of Hierarchy. Strip off that face. Our resources are better expended in a new plan."

My muscles locked, but to dispute the Statute would be to turn traitor. I reached toward my jaw and drew a long, sharp claw down from my ear to my chin, skin separating smoothly from the hard protrusions of my exoskeleton.

Across from me, I watched my ranking officer do the same, the pale skin of the face she had stolen sliding free to reveal the silky green-black curves of her natural form, reshaped to mimic Homo sapiens skeletal system. She tugged as she began to peel the flesh away from her neck, pulling it free of the jagged spurs that had been holding it against her, until it puddled on the concrete at her feet. With a roll of her head and a satisfied chirp, she stepped free.

"Are you done?" she clicked.

I visualized the human leader's features, the shine of light on her too-soft cheeks and the sensation of vulnerably blunt fingertips running down this form's smooth back.

"You are the most beautiful woman in the world," she had breathed in my ear, her too-dull-to-damage teeth grazing my jaw. "You will save us all, Lily."

With a long, human exhalation, I pushed the face of her late lover free from the last spur on my toe.

"Yes, Grear," I clicked back. "I am done."

I tried not to look back as we slipped out of the concrete alcove and crept furtively through the fluorescents toward the exit.

The Weight of Silence

Sometimes, it is far too easy to fill your mouth with silence, to weigh down your tongue with all the words and emotions you tell yourself are better left unsaid. If you're not careful, you start to choke on the backup, gag on your secrets. No amount of dry heaving will stop you from asphyxiating. The only way to save yourself is to speak.

Such a shame that silence is a habit.

The Innocence of Monsters

When I was younger, I didn't know any better than to be exactly who I was, and it confused me when this course of action rarely worked out in my favor. Why should I pretend to be something I was not?

I was very self-possessed, and extremely self-aware - I had confidence to burn. What I lacked was guile, and an understanding that others would happily build my pyre from the kindling I provided. I was a monster who hadn't yet figured out that she was to be feared.

My ignorance made me vulnerable.

I won't say I was cast out of Eden - I never lived in such a place. But, for a time, I was innocent enough to believe that I had a place there.

Worship

My claws are terrible and sharp,
Glinting gold in candlelight,
Darkened blood shimmering with slick, sick
       Promises.

Your lips part,
Gaze swimming upwards toward my eyes.
My fangs bared cruel white -
       Yes, prostrate yourself before me,
       Worship my gilded curves,
       Pray to that which disregards you -
I straddle your lap,
And look right through you.

I will dig my claws into your chest,
Hear your sharp intake of breath before you scream,
Take your vocal cords between my teeth,
Bite off your sounds before they echo,
Admire the harmonies of your gurgles
As liquid heat splatters my chest.

I will eat your heart someday.

You
       will love it.