Silvia Plath Imitations.


My list grew longer.


Left, right, slide, upside-down. Things that I put down disappeared. When a neat and washed pile of clothes sat in a corner, destruction would be inevitable. Demolished completely by my hands. A new textbook ruined by my pens; my locker, a landfill. I had tried so hard to catch up to the first, second, third runners, only to fall behind to the place where you always get lapped. I would sleep everyday afterschool, waking in odd intervals, sometimes losing marks for late and messy work. I had no future. I hadn’t bothered to make one.

I had a dream. From it, I saw myself on a bed of needles, under a dark cloud. It began to move. Thousands at a time, mosquitoes puncturing the surface of my skin, drinking and toasting to the blood of my flesh. As my own blood, the special juice, filled each one up, I raised and dropped my palms, painting abstract masterpieces of red and black on my arms, my legs…everything. They multiplied, coming on faster and faster. My arms blurred, matching their pace. But then my vision clouded black and I could see nothing. And then, my head through the layers of wings and legs. Having their fill, they had all died. Except one. Who, as I had become exhausted and closed my eyes to sleep, landed on one of the fingers of my right hand. I felt the stream of blood open up to it, and I surrendered to the unknown, the leeching vampire, eternally feeding.

But nothing lives forever.



A thousand volts into five of those flying buggers and the black swarm still came. They dropped to the hard linoleum floor dozens at a time like noiseless rain. My love of chocolate, gone in a furious swipe. The dense cloud of buzzing insects showed no signs of dispersing.


Another handful, fried, fell spasming uncontrollably before becoming motionless. My job as a medical doctor, pharmacist, brain surgeon. But I knew they were doomed from the beginning. This wasn’t doing any good. Angry, I waved the paddle-like object faster and faster until my arm became a blur. And I watched them fall: Billionaire, talent show winner, record breaker, extreme unicyclist, full-contact chessmaster. I looked back and forth, trying to spot for any challengers, the environmental activist, humanitarian, mediator. But they must have gone down with the others.


I had lost the time and part of my mind. When I became conscious of where I was, in a kitchen ankle-deep in a sea of black, I realized none of them had made it. I poked around the hard, chitin bodies with the now spent zapper. And I heard a buzz and the translucent wings of a worry-wort.


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