Work Text:
Sizzling blood, hot in a frypan
Gently and methodically stirring the thin film of it
There’s not much of it
Only enough to fill the bottom of it
The chef, in question,
a lady with a tall mouth and an apron
and a disingenuous, nearly malicious grin:
“Hi honey! Welcome home.”
I don’t know where I am
Presumably a kitchen, but it’s all grey and stone
yet with the familiar modern angles I always bump on
but it’s not the layout I know is my home
I look down at myself;
thin spindling nerves outline the shape of a body
supported by blood vessels and arteries,
and yet the absence of the rest of the body is notable
I sit down, the absent skin on my back crawling,
tensing a muscle that I do not have but which my ancestors did
Superficialis, they called it
it’s how dogs shake off ticks
The plate is set down in front of me without much ado
a thin layer of thick sauce
partially curdled with thrombocytes
I grab the plate in both hands and drink it all
It spills down my body;
in my hunger, I forgot I had no mouth
The pleasantly, shamefully hot “sauce”
trickles down my arteries to my legs
I keep my gaze there
I know She must be staring a hole into me
I mumble something unintelligible,
likely “I’ll clean it up,” I assume
Following the assumption,
my legs follow to the pantry
at least this is right where I expected it
I get out a broom and a dustpan without a second thought
when I turn around to trek back
a long, dark hallway
The heart in my chest beats faster
and my vacant skin tenses once more
I close my eyes, stepping forward
to the bright door at the end
I try to cover my ears,
and my fingers only find purchase in my brain
The sound from the dark reverberates through my palms,
a deep, yet soothing and soft feminine tone
“Hello honey, how are you?
You seem like you had a rough day, hun.”
I break into a sprint, my whole body pumping
my entire blood body running hot with shame
wincing what little eyelids I still have shut
“Oh, alright. I’ll give you some space, okay?”
and I slam the door open, flooding myself with light
as I shut the door, locking all three knobs,
unable to pant or heave without lungs,
I hear a familiar, unimpressed voice.
“Hi honey. Welcome home.”
I shake off whatever emotions I must be feeling,
and get to work fixing my earlier blunder.
I realize, boiling once more
a broom doesn’t sweep blood, a mop does
I stare defeated
Crystal clear tears mixing with boiled blood
on the kitchen tile floor
all that’s left is my heartbeat and Her clattering
I close my eyes
and reopen them
the verdant dark room greets me
as well as a fully fleshed body
I realize with horror and disdain,
that it is the same body I had inhabited
the same tired expression
the same bulky, masculine frame
I stare up at the ceiling
then to the door
and close my eyes.
“Hi honey! Welcome home.”