They alone shared my excitement. They alone knew how I felt.
My blistered fingers flew to my zipper, clumsily thrusting downward, retrieving myself from within. My beautiful creature would be dry in her graying folds. I knew this. So had they all before her. I brought my wrist to my lips, palm up as if in offering. Canines gnawing at skin with dull tips, until at last blood appeared, a tiny mound of crimson. I chewed further, hearing Constance moan in tormented longing. Blood ebbed like rain water.
I cited, “Obtain for me, then, a deep sense of modesty.”
I smeared blood between her legs, rubbing my life into her dead flesh.
“Which will be reflected in my external conduct,” I whispered into her ear, and pushed myself inside, feeling the boundaries of life and death erode as I thrust.
Life, precious life, swam within me. Rebirth was worth this moment alone, my union with warm skin, a creature of the sun. After so much darkness. I did not dare open my eyes. I would have cried at the sight of it. I remained quiet, and motionless as he slowly buried himself inside me. My own secret joy.
Constance Amelia Hayes. I felt unworthy of her, this silent goddess, this symphony contained in graceful decomposition. Still, I thrust, imagining my energy soaking into her pores, spreading like wildfire through organs and tissue, restoring her to life. My helpless puppet. Sweat collected at my crown, a rhythmic groan competing against the frantic waving of trees. My hands roamed upon her, palms meandering against her fabric-clad navel, burrowing between the gentle swells of her breast. They found themselves against her face, sliding her cold eyelids back, dark eyes meeting my own. I pushed deeper, her body enveloping my embrace.
I stared at her and said “Protect my eyes, the windows of my soul.”
My muscles trembled as my moment approached. I felt my blood pulse against my skull. I tilted my head back in inexplicable pleasure, panting out the words.
“From anything that might dim the luster of a heart that must mirror only Christ like purity.”
Instant release, fruitful elation. I felt my seed swim from the hair on my head to the hair on my genitals, rushing through her dead body. I cried out wordlessly at the joy of it. Constance Amelia Hayes.
My body shuddered against his bones as he opened my eyes, giving me to the world again. Everything dove into my pupils at once—the cloudless night sky above, stars looming like gemstones. Tree branches wriggling, trying to be free of their roots. And his face, his beautiful face, etched into happy exhaustion as he breathed against my cheekbones. Dark eyes, a whirlwind of emotions, and dreams, and memories carved into their irises. The lines of his face spoke of a life lived, and remembered, and I was in awe of such magnificent architecture.
I became steady and tranquil, watching her as my breath slowed. I slid my fingers against her curls, wrapping red ringlets around my pinkies. Loving her was knowing her, and I suddenly ached at the idea of parting. Constance Amelia Hayes.
The horizon grew purple, warning me of the sun’s arrival. The sun meant people, human beings who wouldn’t understand. I gingerly pressed my lips to hers, closing my eyes, trying to imprint every arch of her body, every inch of skin, into my brain. Then I rose.
She stared at me as I began to pour soil at her feet. Begging me silently to stay, to hold her, love her, make her feel human again. I stared back and whispered.
“And when the ‘Bread of Angels becomes the Bread of me’ in my heart at Holy Communion, seal it forever against the suggestions of sinful pleasures.”
Sweat ran along my shoulder blades as I poured pile after pile of earth into the grave, all the while Constance watching me. Her eyes reflected patches of white moon, burrowing into me. I said my hushed goodbyes, patting the earth into her lovely face. As if I was never there at all. But there was something about those parted lips that told me she would remember.
The sky turned pale orange. Birds chirped in the distance, hurrying the day forward. I suddenly wanted to kill them, perpetually silence them—as if the day could not progress without their incessant encouragement. With gloomy thoughts, I pounded the last of the soil into place.
“Heart of Jesus,” I murmured. “Fount of all purity.”
I ran my cold hands against the dusty stone above her head. “Have mercy on us,” I leered. I shoved my hands into my pockets, forcing my legs to walk away.
I waited, silent with immortal patience, until his footsteps crunched on the gravel from afar. He had worked hard against the dirt, persuading it to hide what had transpired. But I was alive, and well. My fingers worked against the soil, collecting it under my fingernails.
By dawn, one arm made it through. I sensed the warmth of the sun against my skin. I felt its heat against my pale hand, concentrating all of its life into the rays soaking into my pores like the sun itself greeted me.
I slowly raked my fingers against the crisp morning air in hello.
Experiencing time slowly came back to me, as I worked my fingers into the caked dirt and mud around me. My arms, so unused to being useful, ached from being arched over my head.
The pain was numbing, but even that was refreshing for my dead body to withstand. The world above me was silent as I worked. I let my mind wander back to many years before, watching my family huddle around my casket as it was lowered into the ground. I saw it all from a nearby field. I remember feeling cold grass between my toes.
“My name is Constance,” I said—only it didn’t come out that way. It came out as a series of croaks and rasps that got lost in the desert that was my throat. I whispered it over and over again, until I could almost make sense of what I said.
With one last scrape against the mud, the ground caved in, and I saw a clear blue sky above me. One cloud floated into view as I marveled. It looked to be in the shape of a rabbit.
Inch by inch I raised my head and peered across the sloping lawns around me. Sunlight poured into my retinas, but I pinched at my curved black eyelashes, forcing them to remain open. I had to make my escape.
Hundreds of yards away sat a young couple, laying a bouquet of daisies beside a freshly placed plaque. I couldn’t see their tears, but the woman kept swiping her hands across her cheeks. I didn’t think they would notice me.
With weak ankles, I dug my black silk slippers into crevices of dirt as I climbed and pushed my way through the hole I had dug. As my body emerged, I used my arms to lay flat against the grass, inching myself away from my open grave.
A series of emotions and sensations rushed into my pallid body as I felt thousands of green blades dig into my skin through my simple cotton dress. The air was so fresh, it stung as I sucked it into my mouth, down my throat and into my lungs. I felt the rays of the sun warm my waxy flesh.
With each jerk of my body, the routines and ablutions of ordinary life swooped into my brain. Suddenly I remembered the taste of potato soup, the irritating bump of canker sores, how a cat’s fur felt under my open palm.
I was experiencing what it was like to be alive.
With watchful eyes and sly movements, I rose up from the ground and walked toward the front of the cemetery. I made my movements looping and graceful, as if to show everyone around me that I belonged there—I had a purpose there.
I followed the winding black pavement of the trail until at last I reached the large metal gates that enclosed the burial park. I stood before them, knowing that the moment I opened the gate I would be forced to choose whether to turn left or right. And I had no idea where I once lived.