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THE DECOMPOSITION OF CERTAIN TISSUES
By Ed Cowell
Dead leaves littered the parking lot. A lone rust-darkened Thunderbird sat under the sick, decaying
trees separating the lot from the street. Jess,in the driver's seat, sat awake and in pain. She had not
slept in some time. Her dry throat burned; it had not been soothed by water for some time.
Last night's storm had been violent. The trees had been battered by the wind blowing in from Lake
Erie. The motel's VACANCY sign had been seared by an electric kiss of lightning.
On the radio, Gorgasm hammered through "Lesbian Stool Orgy." Jess lit another cigarette. Her ashtray
overflowed with ashen remnants. During the storm,she had gone through at least two packs of
compressed cancer. She had come to dread the mere sight of water. As the sun broke through the
morning gray, she took a long drag. She could feel the inside of her mouth cracking,as if it were
made of clay.
She checked her watch. Eight o'clock. He would be awake by now.
To most people, Jess Lowell looked like a junkie. Emaciated,she was, her crusty blue eyes tense and
haunted. She hadn't bathed in a while,either. She couldn't stand still for long; when she tried, she
always began to shake involuntarily. Her straw-dry hair had been dyed purple,and she always wore
a long-sleeved Embalmer sweatshirt,regardless of Cleveland's insane weather patterns. She had been
cold for a long time, inside her skin.
She stumbled across the parking lot. She climbed the wet wooden stairs one at a time, stopping
to rest on the landing. She had learned to walk slowly. Sometimes, she couldn't walk at all.
The numbers on the door read 2-7. The blinds were drawn. She had a key. He always made sure of that.
Leaning against the door, she managed to fit the key in the lock. Amazingly,she was able to turn the key.
The door swung open. She stood in the doorway,in silhouette against the morning.
"Hello,love," he said. "Close the door."
She hobbled into the room,closing the door behind her. The only light came from between the blinds.
He sat in the bed, naked and tumescent under the the thin white bedsheet.
"How are you?" he asked.
She could barely talk. "I don't feel well."
"Of course you don't."
"I can hear voices in my head." Her voice sounded like a car wreck.
"Telepathic race memory," he said,as he had said before.
"I've been trying to kill them with these." She tossed an unopened pack of Winstons onto the bed.
"You'll kill yourself first. If they let you. They'll just eat the cancer. Like that Nirvana song."
"I never listened-" she coughed out a piece of her throat. "I never listened to Nirvana."
His voice,soft,seductive: "Ah wish ah could eat yerrr cancer when...it turns black..."
He grinned,flashing his rotting teeth. She could see his eyes in the dark. They were blue,shrouded
in mist. Even if he was blind, she was sure he could see her.
"Come here," he said.
"I can't," she said,"Just thinking about it-"
-fingers sliding through his sweat-drenched back, the skin undulating even then,the caged insects around
them many-eyed voyeurs-
She staggered into the bathroom,just managing to kick the door shut. He had never heard anyone
vomit the way she did. When she came out,she was wiping blood off of her chin.
"I hate this," she told him.
Stop fighting., Jess.
She covered her ears and bent double. "Get out of my head."
"We're their vessels," he said."Since the dawn of Man-"
"I'm leaving," she said."No biology lesson today."
She threw the door open,letting in a sliver of light.
"I almost forgot." He flicked a thick wad of hundred-dollar bills at her. She caught it.
"Tell me," he said,"Your menstrual flow...does it glow in the dark?"
"Will it?"
"They're bioluminescent,you know."
"I haven't had my period in a while," she said,and left.
Through the curtain, he watched her drive away.
The bathroom smelled like blood.
He turned the light on.
He could feel her squirming underneath his skin, coiled around rotting bones as it devoured him
from the inside. He looked in the mirror, saw her navigating under the skin of his left cheek.
He filled the bathtub with warm water. When he figured there was enough,he turned the water off.
"Ready?"
Yes. I am.
He took a deep breath and began to masturbate.
In a few minutes, the pain came.
He closed his eyes, gasped for air. His intestines writhed. He tried to think, to have a rational thought,
but there were too many voices, too many-
He blacked out; the sink broke his fall, kept him up. He felt the familiar burn of building fluid. He
cradled his swelling, white-hot genitals; touching his erection was like handling a razor blade.
He screamed, long and loud, as he sprayed the opposite wall with thick red ejaculata.
He looked down,and saw the slimy, beautiful thing wriggling its way out of his urethra.
As it struggled,several more spurts of blood arced into the bathwater.
"Oh baby," he groaned.
He managed to turn off the lights.
The water glowed a deep,dark blue, filling the room. In the water, she twisted and turned,appreciating
the space.
In his head, he heard an ancient song. It came from the beginning of time, a melody no one had ever heard.
When the song ended, he caressed the length of her; she curled around his hand,dancing.
I love you, he thought.
The reply came a long moment later.
I know.
He stepped into the tub. He rested his head against the wall and slept for a while.
When he woke up, he let the water out.
He stood,dried himself off, and stood in front of the mirror.
The glass reflected his eyes, immersed in radiant azure.
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