Dark Places || ONC 2023

Monsters

Janelle knows what garbage feels like. She's put her hands into enough bags, and buckets, and bins at this point to recognize the slickness of beer bottle glass, and the squeak of takeout styrofoam, the unique smell of rancid chicken, and the holy grail that is fresh coffee grounds. She is holding a cat food can lid in her hand. She can feel the pull tab when she flips it over.

"Adam, are you sure this is the disease?" Maybe he tripped into a pile of cats at some point in the last few days?

Adam doesn't answer, just breathes against her shoulder. His breath is hot and arrhythmic.

"Adam?" She jostles her shoulder where his forehead rests.

His breath shudders.

"Yeah. I'm Sure." He swallows thick and mumbles something Janelle doesn't catch. She thinks he's probably cursing.

"This is a cat food can lid," she says.

"Thought so," he says. She can feel him nod, then do something that can only be described as a whimper. God she hates to hear him like this.

"Why did you have a cat food can lid embedded in your side," she asks.

"It's all like that," he slurs. "Weird things. Everyone keeps saying it's calcified material like nails, or iron, or something, but it's all weird stuff Jan. Bits of plastic and metal. Weird stuff is coming out of people."

"Trash is coming out of people Adam." Janelle holds up the lid in front of what she assumes is Adam's face, but she can't see it and neither can he so the motion is moot.

"Hey, you got any bandages nearby? I think I'm bleeding out."

"Oh shit! Right." Janelle fumbles for the antiseptic and gauze in her lap all while, trying not to jostle Adam's head off her shoulder. It's not much comfort to offer, but it's better than nothing.

Janelle grasps for something, anything, to talk about that's not his side bleeding, and can lids, but her brain's been hijacked by thoughts of disease and garbage and trash falling down an endless hole. It's connected. Adam was right.

She smears antibiotic ointment on the bandage. Get's gauze on his side. Presses hard. Covers it in tape. Holds tight. Putting pressure and hoping for the best.

The disease and the hole are connected. Even more so than she could ever imagine. She remembers the piece of plastic she felt in the wall above them. The tiny piece of plastic. A lego brick maybe. It's coming out of the walls here like it's coming out of people. The walls are sticky like dry blood or burnt skin.

"It'll slow," Adam says, though Janelle is not so sure. Adam's head turns preparing to pull back from her shoulder, but he takes a detour. His eyes and nose and then his lips brush by her neck. She bites her lip as his breath wraps around her cheek. Then he's gone. He leans against the wall with a groan. Her side is cold where his feverish heat had just been.

"You have family?" he asks. His voice is sticky with pain and thirst. She'll need to remember to get him to drink after this.

"Found family," Janelle says simply. Her people are spread across the country. Some she holds dear from her time in undergrad, some she met online, others she spent amazing time with in St. Paul and Athens, and Urbana, and Austin. Her family is everywhere and most importantly always right next to her. She wonders how they'll find out she's gone if she disappears into this hole forever.

"Found family's a big thing in the queer community, right?" Adam asks.

Janelle's head jerks up.

"What?" She says. Her heart rate spikes and her fingers tingle. How does he know? She panics She'll never admit it. Women are women no matter how they look, but she feels safe wrapped in her soft features and thick hair.