It is all in her mind
It is the little flies, so many little flies that haunt me. Their constant buzzing and intrusion into my space are eternal. They pose no threat to my physical being but conjure images of decay. The rotting flesh on which they feed is invisible to me. They multiply in magnitude without explanation of their origins: I cannot rest until I rid myself of these little flies.
They say that I am safe here. There are no flies in this place. They are so wrong. The flies are here swarming around me. Why can't they see them, as I do?
All color and personality stripped from this room in which I sit. No windows to offer light or darkness. No clocks to tick away times passage. Meals, void of all ambiance, when served hint at the span of times consumption. The feeding of the flies increases at this time. Festering in the food, they burrow beneath the revolting cuisine. The rot of the food gives birth to the new infective maggots. Sedation becomes the only escape in this room. I will let no food touch my lips.
Dreams carry me away to the time before the flies. Images of smiling faces pass familiar in front of me. A magnified longing of intensity invades my soul. The ache of loss echoes in recognition. They didn't see the flies.
His face appears as a flickering candid photograph in my mind. His strong square jaw molded of olive flesh oozing masculinity permeates my thoughts. His eyes deep brown and hypnotizing call to me. Love, not fear, cascades reminiscent. The name for the image eludes capture, dangling beyond reach, tantalizing with a remembered feeling of safety.
Shared tidbits of conversation blare in my mind. They reverberate in reflection of the past playing like an old phonograph.
"Please, honey, look at me. You have to see me and know that I am here for you. Just me and nothing else. Can you do this for me? There are no flies. The flies are all in your imagination. They are not real. Please come back to me. I need you!"
There was no reply. Only darkness remained.
Channels of my mind change abruptly. His name is written in thick cursive upon the momentarily blank slate. Grasped from the shoots of air that propel through my brain's tunnel is the name of John. Temporary contentment of knowing arbitrarily replaced with grief. I know him. I long to be with him but the distance is insurmountable. A trio of faces parade through my mind. Catalogued pictures of childhood turn to young adults witnessed. My children, I vision through the dream's flight of clarity. Heart-wrenching guilt weighs heavily. If they could just see the flies as I do, they would understand. They could live again.
"Mom, what in the world are you doing? I can't even breathe in here. It reeks of bug spray! I am opening the windows before we all die!"
My son, he wanted air. He said he couldn't breathe. I can't breathe when the flies are near.
"NO! Not the windows. They will come in again. The flies will return. We have to kill them"
"Mom, this is crazy. There are no flies. Please tell me what is going on. You are scaring us. Do you need to take your medicine?" His voice made deep, speaking from the edge of panic.
"Ben, quick go open all of the windows in your room. We have to air this place out. Mom, Nick is right you are going to make us all sick. How many bottles of that shit did you use?" The Feminine vocalized dramatic reminder playing in my head. The daughter, she was there telling me there were no flies.
"Mom, Ben is crying. He is so worried about you. We all are. Please let us help you. We have to get out of this house".
Why couldn't they see that I had to be rid of the flies? Soon it would be done. I would save them all from the flies. They would all see it soon.
"Do you smell gas?" I smiled, hearing the voice of my youngest child. He knew what was happening.
The gas will bring them down. Yes, none will remain.
And then they were gone, just as quickly as they had appeared. My sorrow is inescapable.
My transformation is beginning here in this room void of color. My cocoon is emerging. My wings are lengthening. I am one with the flies.
Word count 744