In The Flesh(Teeth)

11

"All we are is breath against the glass, just like the ashes of a fire fading fast." I Want Out by Young Guns

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Night. Everyone is sleeping and I lay awake, thinking of
the Breathers. Where will we be when they come? Ice fills my stomach and freezes my lungs as I wonder who we'll lose.

I find myself imagining the earthy, rotten smell of the monsters. Their ashy skin and fiery orange eyes. The grotesquely twisted bones on their spines that rattle with every movement. The gentle hiss of air as they suck in breath. Their mouths as they unfold and a long slimy tongue slides out. Stretching so wide that I'm sure it's going to eat me alive.....

I wake with a start, drenched in sweat.

The night has faded and given way to a filmy dawn. My mouth tastes like cotton and my eyes are gritty. My stomach feels bruised as I sit up. I lift my shirt, expecting to see my skin purple and yellow, but there is only the smooth skin of my abdomen. I breathe out look over at Katy, who still sleeps soundly. Mom and Dad are still curled up beneath the tattered blankets. I feel a pressing need to pee, carefully stepping over the sleeping forms of my family.

There is a fringe of trees just outside the house, perfect for business. I could use the toilet in the house, but the plumbing probably wouldn't work anymore and peeing in the woods made me feel like a super survival guy in the wild. It was really just for the novelty, if I may say so myself.

I don't head back immediately. I sit on the ground a while and just breathe. The stillness of the trees and the soft animal sounds soothe me. In here, I can forget that the world is overrun with terrifying monsters straight from my nightmares and horror films. I can imagine that Katy is still happy, not skinny and tired. That Mom doesn't give Dad that narrow-eyes look on the roads like she's thinking about just picking up and leaving us all behind. That Dad doesn't have lines on his young face because he wants to protect me and Katy but knows that Mom doesn't want to stick around. That our family isn't falling apart ever so slowly under the stress of trying to survive in a world where survival means getting caught and put in a sac or a blood farm until the Breathers decide you've given enough.

No, in here, I am limitless. I am at peace. I am darkness. I am invisible. I have shed the manacles of doom and am embracing the silence of thought. I am what I pretend to be, just for a moment.

I imagine that I am home. The Breathers never happened. Everything is normal. I've made the soccer team in my middle school. That cute girl with the blonde hair and blue eyes and bright smile has noticed me. Twinkies still exist. My favorite band never broke up. I imagine my own bed and my own house and everything that was mine. My paints and brushes and paper and canvases and my sketches. The lines on my wall where I had planned to paint a mural, but never had time to start before the Breathers messed everything up.

I had thought that I would miss my phone or my games the most. And I find that the thing I crave most and would give my last Twinkie for is some paint and brushes. A maddening urge to create is suffocating me. With art, I can escape. I can breathe and immerse myself in creating something beautiful.

I look around myself and spot a broken tree branch. I work quickly, stripping the branch of any pieces sticking out until I have one long piece of wood. And I start moving the tip in the dirt. The dirt is my canvas, the branch my brush. And that's good enough.

I work feverishly, scratching at the dirt. I lose myself for what feels like the briefest moment. I ignore the strengthening light filtering through the dark green leaves and the rise in temperature. There is only what lies beneath my feet. There is only what I hold in my hands and what I create.