The Swarm

FACSIMILES STAGGER like a heart's stutter, layer upon layer, a teeming blanket that drapes hill and valley en masse. Wings buck and shimmer. Abdomens hum. And underneath them all is me.

Heirlooms

SPOONS ARE GOOD for eating soup, porridge, and pie. My grandmother gave me a metal one, pewter I think. Spoons are good for digging, too, and scooping out my roommate's eye.

Brush Strokes

I PAINT FOR hours in one color. When I run short, I call delivery. It's a wait, but then the man arrives. 

I slit his throat and get back to work.

Shovels

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.  Each pound disperses overhead. I reach in the dark for the lamp—

"Stop that racket!"

But there is no lamp. Just a wall.

The racket is my burial.

Obituary

SAD ANNOUNCEMENT this morning of the passing of Mrs. Lottie Granger, 86 years old, who died, undiscovered, last week in her mobile home.

Surviving, are her four cats who ate her. 

A/N: I may have gotten carried away with rosaimee's #31creepywords challenge, it was so much fun. Thank you, Nyhterides, my twisted queen, for tagging me.

Passing it along:

AdelynAnn (because I will forever tag you in creepy things until you cave)

ViridianHues (see above)

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