mystics

The house of her head is derelict now, the yard of her body is overgrown and snared with weeds. Back, back, back, when everything seemed to just want to stretch upward, well, the only thing you can really say about then is that it was a time unlike now.

There was a child, a kid, a baby. It was all three at once, but not one specifically. That may have been what did it. Or at least contributed. It would turn over anything that stood in its path. It would push and barrage, face red as coals, every ounce of energy and adrenaline packed deeply into each step.

There were cops and tears and schools out of state. Everything in the house got thrown against the wall once. In that last spring, the shed went up in flames. Handles of shovels and rakes burned, the shed's aluminum siding gurgled, and gas cans burst. The heat was incredible. She erupted in hives and scratched until she hit blood. She scratched again before the skin could even mend. Then her hair began to fall out; she tugged at what was left until there was nothing.

When it was all over, when there was a swell of black earth covering its coffin, she actually began to breathe again. What came out was pure dust. It was so heavy it dropped straight to the floor, collecting in the corners, amassing on surfaces, eventually overtaking everything.


Download: The Mystics - Pain (.mp3)
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