December 14, 2017
By Anonymous

     They reach out for me, clawing, pulling at my shirt, begging for me, begging for my flesh. A figure under a sheet stays watching, staring, ominous. I scream and try to pull away, but they keep pulling. Tears, blood, and snot are pouring down my face. “What do you want?” I yell. My shirt is tearing now. Not a sound is made. The trees seem to be reaching for me too, but I’ve accepted that I can’t get away now. Not now, not ever.

     The cloaked figure rips the sheet and reveals itself. The face is that of a decaying corpse. Maggots were squirming and chewing at the inside of its eye socket, stitches kept its lips firmly in place. It represented my fear. Something mental, yet it still terrified me. The smell of death was beginning to make me lightheaded. Its lips parted, and I could hear the stitches tear. “You.” It whispered, “You, you, YOU.” I was face to face with the corpse, and then it happened. It kissed me. Its lips were chapped and I could smell nothing but death and decay. Then I felt the insects scrape and crawl into my mouth as the hands held me firmly in place. A bloodied tongue pried at my lips, and then it all stopped. I had opened my eyes and only saw white. Now I was the rotting, decaying corpse under the sheet.

The author's comments:

     I was inspired by my fear and anxiety to write this piece, as well as failed romances and deaths in my family. My fear is represented by not knowing what's under the sheet, making me anxious. After finding out, it's the depression that comes crashing down, just like the realization that someone close to you is dead. The failed romances always made me feel like somehow I ended up in their shoes, because when I first met them, they were usually always worse than me (mentally), but after we would break up, they'd be better off. Almost like one step fowards, two steps back.

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