death and cherries

The signs were there this morning before you left. No fizzing energy, no drive. Rote answers. I’m winding down again.

When you return in the evening you’re the only thing that animates me at all. If I’m a stopped clock, my hands at least judder to the next notch when I look at you.

You’re curled up around a hot chocolate I made for you on your request. A warning sign, that I don’t anticipate your desires. You let it play it, so that I’m staring at a story I’m intending to read on my phone, not having scrolled in dozens of minutes.

“Death,” I say suddenly, out loud. What a needlessly dramatic start. You pause your game and look over at where I’m on the floor, hunched up against the couch.

I expand. “Was reading a thing—favourite thing—not important, ask me later if you want to know. Mentioned a creature lying dead in a hidden chamber.” My voice is monotonous, coming from a distant place. “Was sad. Killed, having wanted only to do good. A marvel, destroyed.

“We’re all like that. When we die we leave bodies. Our potential spent, maybe for good, maybe for ill or indifference. But.”

I lean further back against the couch, hands twisting together in a mechanical sequence of stretching knuckles. You extend a leg, touching my back with your shin. Only a long exhale shows you that the touch affects me in any way.

“But we die alone. Even surrounded by others, the light fades, we retreat, and in the end it’s us in the dark, knowing there were once people standing nearby who loved us.”

My brows furrow as I stare into space. “And then our bodies are left and just… Disappear. Long process embalmed, short process wild. Either way, a process happening to dead-empty flesh. Boring and tragic.”

I trail off. A surprisingly long period of time is spent in silence. Then softly, mostly to myself: “I don’t want to die like that.”

Immediately, I turn around. My eyes rove your face; lock on to yours. Intensity: suddenly there is a spark of life in me. “That’s what you give us. That’s your gift.”

I’ve clearly gone off the deep end again. You don’t need to hide your small, incredulous smile. You know I’ll take it in the best possible light. “What’s my gift?”

“We die pouring into you, or our flesh sliding down your throat, or closed in the darkness inside of you. There’s no escape. You’re there in the circle of light with us up till the end. Past the end. Like a friend or… or a saviour. We’re not alone.”

You lean forward and cup the side of my jaw in your palm, your thumb stroking my cheek affectionately. It’s never clear in these episodes if I truly believe what I’m saying or if it’s just the melancholy. But you let it run its course.

“And we don’t leave behind wreckage to break down. We go living into you. Yeah, you break us down, melt our flesh and dissolve our bones. Yeah we burn into your shit. But it’s no rotting away in a cold tomb; it’s hot, live, animated; your body never lets us rest till every scrap is yours or is waste. You give us a living death.”

My hand clasps your hand to my cheek. You feel wetness under your thumb.

“So thank you, Raven. For your hunger. For making death into something beautiful.”

I flash you a smile as pure and honest as a child’s.

The sofa creaks as you shift your weight till your lips brush my ear…

“There are cherries in the fridge. Feed them to me.”

My childlike bark of laughter comes with brief, hot tears, though I’m smiling. I look at you like you’re the most wonderful person on the planet. Then I’m up, kissing your palm as I disengage, and slipping away to the kitchen…