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Authors: William Todd Rose
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A small boy burst from the front door and ran across the lawn, yelling and crying as a harried-looking mother with red hair chased after him.
Like her other flashbacks, this one disappeared as quickly as it had descended upon her, leaving her with only lingering emotions: Guilt twisted her gut and sorrow scooped a hollow cavity between her throat and chest. She felt like weeping, like whispering an apology to the universe until it finally decided to accept her contrition, like pinching herself until the sharp sting of physical pain overrode emotional turmoil with something palpable; but all she could do was continue watching the thing as it squirmed on the floor.
It’s not a thing! It was a woman once. Someone like me!
The thought struck her like a physical blow, causing her head to snap back. Somehow, the corpse’s outstretched arms didn’t seem threatening now. Maybe it simply wanted to know it wasn’t alone. Maybe it reached out for compassion, for reassurance that there was something else out there, something besides cold bathwater and the darkness of eyes it was no longer capable of opening.
Not it…she
.
How long had the body languished in this bathroom? How long had it been suspended somewhere between life and death? Did she pray for release? Or did she long to become the person she’d once been, someone who had a family, perhaps even children.
Lydia squatted, balancing on the balls of her feet, and tried to see past the grotesque mask the woman’s face had become. Somewhere beneath all that water-bloated skin were the traces of an honest-to-God person. She’d probably cried into a pillow as slivers of a broken heart pierced her soul; she would have had moments of carefree laughter, times when she felt broken and defeated, instances when self-confidence had empowered her into acts and deeds she never thought possible. She would have known the warmth of the sun on her face long before the icy bathwater had chilled her to the marrow.
The corpse wriggled forward again and its arm reached for Lydia as a gurgle burbled from within its chest; more water dribbled from the corners of its mouth and Lydia’s shoulders drooped. She hadn’t been aware of it until it was gone, but tension had hunched them to the point that her head looked as if it sat directly on them. Now that tightness was gone and it almost felt as though her muscles sighed in relief.
I’m sorry this happened to you. Whoever you are.
Lydia’s thoughts swirled like smoke somewhere deep within the recesses of her subconscious.
You didn’t deserve this. No one deserves this.
Did she even inhabit the body thinking these things? It felt as though she were simply floating in the ether, no longer a pilot within this shell of flesh but a mere passenger along for the ride. She couldn’t feel the damp chill in the air or taste its staleness on her tongue. All she had left, it seemed, was the ability to see, hear, and think…but even those things felt fleeting and tenuous.
A dense fog seemed to have rolled into the bathroom, veiling details within a sinuous gray mist. The leaky spigot dripping into the tub, the squish and rasp of the dead woman writhing across the floor: These sounds were as muffled and indistinct as though Lydia were listening to them with her head below water.
You’re not alone
.
There was no energy left in her body. Her muscles felt flaccid and useless, and if she allowed herself, Lydia was sure she could curl up and sleep for days. She was tired…so very, very tired. With half-closed eyelids she observed the corpse, somehow knowing that her focused attention was the only thing keeping her from succumbing to exhaustion.
I’m here
.
Lydia saw her own arm rise so slowly that it seemed as if it had become weightless. She knew she was powerless to stop the movement, for she now existed solely in a state of disembodied detachment. Her sense of self had severed its connection with the physical body and drifted lazily within
Like her other flashbacks, this one disappeared as quickly as it had descended upon her, leaving her with only lingering emotions: Guilt twisted her gut and sorrow scooped a hollow cavity between her throat and chest. She felt like weeping, like whispering an apology to the universe until it finally decided to accept her contrition, like pinching herself until the sharp sting of physical pain overrode emotional turmoil with something palpable; but all she could do was continue watching the thing as it squirmed on the floor.
It’s not a thing! It was a woman once. Someone like me!
The thought struck her like a physical blow, causing her head to snap back. Somehow, the corpse’s outstretched arms didn’t seem threatening now. Maybe it simply wanted to know it wasn’t alone. Maybe it reached out for compassion, for reassurance that there was something else out there, something besides cold bathwater and the darkness of eyes it was no longer capable of opening.
Not it…she
.
How long had the body languished in this bathroom? How long had it been suspended somewhere between life and death? Did she pray for release? Or did she long to become the person she’d once been, someone who had a family, perhaps even children.
Lydia squatted, balancing on the balls of her feet, and tried to see past the grotesque mask the woman’s face had become. Somewhere beneath all that water-bloated skin were the traces of an honest-to-God person. She’d probably cried into a pillow as slivers of a broken heart pierced her soul; she would have had moments of carefree laughter, times when she felt broken and defeated, instances when self-confidence had empowered her into acts and deeds she never thought possible. She would have known the warmth of the sun on her face long before the icy bathwater had chilled her to the marrow.
The corpse wriggled forward again and its arm reached for Lydia as a gurgle burbled from within its chest; more water dribbled from the corners of its mouth and Lydia’s shoulders drooped. She hadn’t been aware of it until it was gone, but tension had hunched them to the point that her head looked as if it sat directly on them. Now that tightness was gone and it almost felt as though her muscles sighed in relief.
I’m sorry this happened to you. Whoever you are.
Lydia’s thoughts swirled like smoke somewhere deep within the recesses of her subconscious.
You didn’t deserve this. No one deserves this.
Did she even inhabit the body thinking these things? It felt as though she were simply floating in the ether, no longer a pilot within this shell of flesh but a mere passenger along for the ride. She couldn’t feel the damp chill in the air or taste its staleness on her tongue. All she had left, it seemed, was the ability to see, hear, and think…but even those things felt fleeting and tenuous.
A dense fog seemed to have rolled into the bathroom, veiling details within a sinuous gray mist. The leaky spigot dripping into the tub, the squish and rasp of the dead woman writhing across the floor: These sounds were as muffled and indistinct as though Lydia were listening to them with her head below water.
You’re not alone
.
There was no energy left in her body. Her muscles felt flaccid and useless, and if she allowed herself, Lydia was sure she could curl up and sleep for days. She was tired…so very, very tired. With half-closed eyelids she observed the corpse, somehow knowing that her focused attention was the only thing keeping her from succumbing to exhaustion.
I’m here
.
Lydia saw her own arm rise so slowly that it seemed as if it had become weightless. She knew she was powerless to stop the movement, for she now existed solely in a state of disembodied detachment. Her sense of self had severed its connection with the physical body and drifted lazily within
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