ants and other stories
© 1995 Devon Koren

i think we're going to the laundromat again. i'm glad because sometimes when nobody else is around Dust will let me crawl inside the drier for a little while. i love to spin in them. they remind me of the ferris wheel type carnival rides i played on when Dust took me to the fair last year.

we go to the laundromat because there's nothing else to do in this small town. at least that's what Dust says. he says it's the best place to feed, too, which i don't really understand because the only thing i can ever buy from the vending machine is cracker jacks...yet somehow i always feel a little bit better after we leave the laundry room.

tonight Dust found an abandoned pair of black gloves discarded and alone in a corner, wedged in the chasm between the two dryers. they were men's gloves, and were enormous on my tiny, elfin hands. so Dust said he would wear them and make something for me.

after the laundromat closes its doors and locks itself up from such creatures that may roam the night, i realize that my blood hasn't smelled like this for what seems half an eternity now. the air brushes the hair from my eyes, and the wind kisses my face, but i notice that the taste of all of it makes my heart ache. i remember my mother and a mingling bitterness of old '80s songs, and something inexplicable that only windchimes and music boxes may speak of. the streetlamps guide an ocean of whitew ashed memories as they ebb gently onto the beach of my consciousness and then wane and escape through my eyes by the different shafts and passageways in my head.

"look, Dust!" i exclaim. "i'm crying the sea!"

Dust just watches me and says nothing, just like i knew he would.

shortly after the death of my mother, i remember that the school decided to send me to a therapist, who promptly diagnosed me with a mild psychosis of something-or-the-other (i really can't remember now) but he was basically telling me:

"you're as mad as a hatter, Dizzy. now why don't you just sit back and relax, and take a few of these pills..."

Dust said that he wouldn't let me go on any type of drugs because i had just turned eleven last fall and he was afraid they would stunt my growth or something.

"my growth's already stunted, though," i protested later. but i didn't want the drugs anyways. all of my friends were sick, and shelley was dead, because i kissed shelley, and Dust said i could never kiss anyone ever again. Dust told me we had to go away soon because someone was going to get hurt if we didn't. he told me a lot of nonsense about feeding and life force and different shades of auras, but it's not really important. i don't think.

i'm glad Dust doesn't think i'm crazy. because Dust knows everything and as long as i know he knows i'm not insane, then it's the truth because Dust is smart and Dust never lies.

so anyway Dust has these black gloves now which i really love because they're smart and dark and they smell comfortable. they remind me of something that i can't quite place at the moment...Dust likes them, too, because they hide his hands and they match his raincoat. he can do anything with those gloves. he can make me laugh or cry or go to sleep when even the greatest armies of insomnia torment me. Dust can make strangers smile and convince them to follow us to Nowhere and dance in our imaginary masquerade balls. Dust says we'll have to leave again soon. and that makes me sad because i was just beginning to enjoy it here. Dust says that's the reason we need to go soon. sometimes Dust doesn't make any sense.

Dust and i walk within the shadows, shrouded by the omniscient arms of the trees of summer. i smile at their endless dance among the stars, flickering blue lights joining the masquerade. the wind gently licks my pinwheel and i find myself spiraling deep into its sea of translucent stars. four or five other souls superimpose themselves on my reality, with their laughter and happiness, but i remain detached, my eyes lost in the spiderweb sky. Dust pauses once in a while and glances over his shoulder to make sure i'm still here, and i haven't chased after my flying fish. sometimes me thinks he thinks he has to look after me, which is probably a good thing because i know i would get myself hurt or killed or exploded or something.

we pass a circle k, when Jen decides she wants to get a slurpie. so i walk on Dust's heels as we crowd into the small service station. neon lights sting my eyes, so i wince and run my fingers along a pinball machine. a middle-aged woman stands behind the counter, a cigarette held between her thin, parched lips. her face is worn and quite aged. Jen buys a slurpie while Alex and Lea stalk the candy shelves like starving wolves. Dust brings a bottle of lipton original up to the register, and Michelle follows him, a cheerful smile upon her lips and her eyes wide and bright. i watch the colors of chaos emanating from the lady behind the cash machine.

i whisper, "i'm sorry."

"excuse me?"

"i'm sorry."

the woman glares at me harshly.

"what the hell you talkin' about? you crazy or somethin'?"

a flood.

"i'm sorry your son had to die in that stupid war."

the water rushes in.

"and i'm sorry that your husband is having all of these affairs which even you know about but won't admit to."

stop it stop it STOP IT!

"and i'm sorry your daughter called you a bitch yesterday. perhaps of you had only gone to her recital..."

"SHUTUP!" she screams, backing away from the register, her eyes swelling with tears. "how the hell did you know all that? what kind of little devil are you? get out of my store!"

and even as Dust grabs my wrist and drags me out of the station, i can feel her racing to the back room, sobbing, collapsing in the floor, tearing through the medicine cabinet in search of her lover, Prince Valium, to sleep with her once again tonight...

but i do not want to know about this.

"you really shouldn't go around announcing the personal problems of complete strangers," scolds Lea, ripping open a package of M&M's and stuffing the candy-coated chocolates into her mouth. the others laugh. except Dust. Dust just stares at me and doesn't say anything. just like i knew he would.

we stop by an old, rancid ice cream parlor on our way back to our apartment.

"what? no chicken and telephone ice cream?" i protest, stamping my foot. "how absurd!"

why do those clerks look at me so strangely? Dust speaks to one of them in his low voice - probably to reprimand them for being so rude (he's a stickler when it comes to manners.) he finally returns to me, a cone in his glove...with chicken and telephone ice cream! Dust can do anything with his black gloves. the best thing about chicken and telephone ice cream is that it's invisible and similar in taste to air.

i fall down a lot. i think it's because i don't watch my feet anymore. all the different colours swirling through my tunnel vision distracts me from the echo of my boots against the concrete. Dust always catches me, though. so i know i'm not going to break myself. at least not yet.

the sun dies every night, but it seems to always manage to stitch itself back together by the morning. i often wonder if - like a cat - it has nine lives (though an obvious great many more) - too many more, or at least that's what Dust always says.

i'm in the corner again. i like corners. they are where two places meet and that makes them very, very important. that's why spiders always build their webs there. my mother used to send me to the corner whenever i told her about my flying fish or the big, plastic blue bubbles in my eyes. she always accused me of making up stories. i remember Dust used to laugh back then. he used to have a guitar and he would sing and play songs for me and Her. i think at one time he loved Her a lot. nobody ever found out what happened to Her. i think Dust kissed Her and then she died and Dust would never laugh again after that.

anyway so i'm here in the corner drawing stuff on the wall again and i know they are playing behind me because all of them are laughing and tickling and being all giggly. Dust keeps getting all tangled up in Jen's arms, and Alex and Lea are tangled , too. i'm tangled in my kite string now and standing on my head with my eyes closed...

thump.

knock knock.

hey. hey! Dizzy? are you okay?

i'm fine...i think.

you lost your kite.

i know. i'm sorry.

we won't tell your father.

my father is dead.

okay. just don't tell him.

my mother is dead too.

okay. but don't say anything.

this knot on my head is growing. what time is it?

why do you care?

and i am asleep.

suddenly.

i can hear them walking up the hall.

they have strong, evil bootheels and i know they want me dead.

i already am dead. no, shelley is dead.

shelley hates you now. you killed her.

your mother hates you.

go away. i don't want to talk to you anymore.

the lizard i drew on the wall jumps out and begins to bite my feet.

i know if my feet disappear then i could go catch a few stars.

but then i would be a ghost.

does Dust believe in ghosts?

Dust believes in nothing.

the venom seeps through the skin and causes my body to tremble. i ache. and the poison is on my lips now. then i kissed Shelley...

searing. a blade into my chest....

help

i

can't

breathe...

i gasp violently for the cruel oxygen. i can't remember if i'm a fish or a bird. Dust? Dust?

"Dust..." i whisper, my eyes sinking into their own reflective sea.

"mmm?"

asleep. they are all sleeping. i claw at the floor, stumbling over my shoes. my bare feet crash against the floor, and i creep across the planks. blankets. a forest of blankets. they sleep underneath, nestled within each other's branches and limbs. tangled. there is blood on my nightshirt but i don't remember how it got there. i glance at my feet where i have spilt the droplets, a trail of crimson behind me. i shake the knots out of my hair and race across the panels. falling, i smack my face again st the bathroom wall, fumbling for a lightswitch. nightmares chase me to the bathtub, and i can hear them. i can see their dreams. and Dust wishes he could kiss Jen, but he knows he can't. he knows. because shelley is dead. i whimper, drowning myself with icicle water from the faucet. my nightshirt sticks to me now, and blood seeps from deep within, like poison. i think the lizard bit me there. i am shivering...help me. but they are all sleeping...

there are ants everywhere. i tried to drown them in water but now the faucet is bleeding ants. they crawl up in my hair and bite and laugh at me. why do they all laugh? i scramble from the basin, slipping on puddles, flying from the apartment out into the street.

bare feet.

crackle.

crunch.

ice lies underneath buried in glass.

my sole bleeds.

my soul?

there are a few light poles here. i hide beneath one. the ants can't find me here, me thinks. my breath is all foggy now and i laugh and pretend i'm a dragon. yes. a shivering dragon. there is a mist everywhere and i look around to make sure the shadows won't swallow me again.

evil evil evil trees they hate me they want me dead

they all want me dead

what's buried underneath all these leaves?

shelley?

i feel tight hands clutching me. behind. they grab me and pull at me and make me hurt. they are mean, mean hands. they make me fall down. they make me undress. the icicles sting the place where my wings used to be. the gravel embeds itself in me and my blood plays connect-the-dots with the rocks in my legs. i like games. Dust bought me this big book of pictures to color and dots to connect...but this game hurts. and i don't like the colors the hands make. strange lips force a kiss from mine and now i know he is going to die...the ants go marching one by one...

oh god

someone

please

wake

me

up...

"Dust?"

"You've been sleeping."

"i think i'm all broken now."

"The wind is blowing. When you are well, we will leave. We will find someplace to fly your kite."

"where did you find those honeysuckles in the middle of winter?"

"There are gardens which remain in full bloom throughout the seasons."

"there are so many ants. i don't like these ants. they crawl all in my hair and they get all tangled up in me. no, i don't like them at all."

"Do not be afraid. He will never be able to hurt you again. I promise."

i ache. my legs are weak and feel broken, my back all crumbled in my shroud of flesh. Dust brings me sugar and crystals and amethyst lollipops. i feel alive when Dust is with me. i'm not afraid anymore. Dust smashed away all of my fear with his black gloves...

but the lights have become evil now...lights within lights. they scatter and tumble upon me like raining water roaches that crawl into my hair. they torment me with their tortuous smiles and hideous laughter. they crawl within me and i am unclean. no fountain can wash them away. and believe me, i've tried to haunt the cement universe, but to no avail. it was my fault, though Dust doesn't think so. still, i sit in the white walled corner and watch my stomach grow.

i don't know why my stomach is growing. i think it's because all of the little buggies are crawling up inside me now. so now that they're inside they move around a lot and they make me swell up. but i think Dust is beginning to notice because he's been looking at me all strangely lately. Dust doesn't know about the bugs. but i think i'll tell him tomorrow. maybe. it depends. anyway. i have an umbrella now. so i'm hoping it will rain soon.

bleak.

that's such a strange word - do you think anyone has ever noticed that before?

i guess your flesh peels off in layers and then you can see the tendons.

are your muscles really pink or is that only on tv?

we used to have a tv.

i used to stick my head out the window and watch the stars go by.

where's mama?

Dust said that mama is dead.

roaches.

everywhere now they crawl they creep they infect they are VERMIN...

like me.

i remember things

sometimes.

i wonder if my umbrella will take me across the world?

i had a dashboard pillow for a long time.

there are so many people pounding on the roof make them STOP!!!

bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang

AHHHHHHHH!

um.

i'm all alone?

no.

Dust is there.

Dust is always there.

mostly.

i think i need to close my eyes for a while until all of the voices go away. it's too much. it's like riding those roller coasters very fastly and then getting all sick. or eating to much cotton candy. Jen always makes me breakfast in the morning. she feels badly for me i think. and she loves Dust. she loves Dust very muchly and i know she wants to spend forever with him here. Jen is very pretty. i know she'll try to make all the voices go away. and she is just very nice. but she's been feeling very tired lately. she's gonna fall down soon, i bet, just like me. and then Dust is going to make us leave.

"Dizzy?"

"i'm thirsty, Dust. i'm very thirsty." "Everything will be better soon. I promise."

"um...Dust? there are these....bugs."

"Oh? What kind of bugs?"

"i don't know exactly...sort of like ants, but more like roaches. and anyway they've crawled all up inside me and they are making my stomach grow."

"Perhaps they're creating something inside of you."

"mmm.....maybe."

there are many triangle houses here. dozens and dozens. they're huge too, like scrapeskiers, except even bigger. and it's really hot here. very hot. the people that walk by us don't really wear anything but skirts. i don't think they see us. that's because we're invisible. hee hee. they talk all strangely, like their mouths are full of bubble gum. there are many kitty-kitties here. i miss my kitty. he ran away and never came back. maybe he came here, because they build big statues that look like cats. they really like cats here.

Dust takes me to many places like this. he says its because of the black gloves. he says he can melt time with them. i really don't know exactly what that means, but i do know that these places he takes me to are beautiful. once he took me to this place where there were many silver people riding on horses. and once there was this stone circle. my favourite was the old woman who was sand painting though. it was so beautiful...i wonder why there aren't many words for "beautiful"? i think maybe someone should make up a few more. humans are so silly. they spend all of their time trying to make themselves look all pretty pretty, but then they only have a few words to describe themselves afterwards...

and then the knife into my stomach.

my teeth clench together and my hands grope for something anything.

Dust? help me...

a sliver of blood again. no no no i don't want to play connect the dots.

it hurts too much.

and there are dreams, many dreams that are visiting me all of the sudden. dreams i've had since i was only three inches high and mommy would send me to the corner. and Dust would always have me draw pictures of them and he would laugh and cry but he always believed me and he would hang them up on his wall. so my dreams are here and they're all saying goodbye, and i don't understand, but they open the trapdoor in my head and fly out on the paper airplanes of my screams.

there's something inside of me. my stomach begins to shrink and tries to push the something out, but the pain is searing. and i can feel it tearing me inside out. gnawing, gnashing...the ants are clawing their way out of me, now. i trapped them there and now they're chewing through me...

there is a pale hand in mine, another on my forehead. fingertips worn smooth were once callused by the guitar strings. i smile, my eyelids fluttering against the brilliant light that pours through me. there are many people here, sticking needles in to me, washing me in ice, and they mutter incoherent words that i don't understand. my eyes are wet, but my mouth is dry, and i can't feel anything anymore. i am numb. a dull throbbing in my stomach, my flesh pulls itself apart. blood. i notice there is a river of blood staining everything. crimson. they must have made Dust take his gloves off. he's watching me, and i can feel the warm splash of his tears against my cheek. it tickles and makes me laugh, even though my stomach hurts. my body, limp, feels a s though it is falling, falling. i think perhaps i should say something, but i decide that Dust is always right anyway, so i close my eyes. and i can fly.

there's a shrill, eerie screaming from one of those metal doohickies they stuck in me. but that's not really me anymore, and i think Dust probably knows that, because Dust knows everything anyway. the doctor says i'm dead, but Dust doesn't say anything, just like i knew he would.