Crucifia

         The cat was purring in the hallway. It knew only of itself, for it was blind. A large stew simmered on the stove and the air was filled with warmth. Crucifia walked below in the empty street, on her way to the butchery to supplement the stew. The celestial light had been filtered through a lens of blue-black, and an army of confetti lay dead on the pavement. No celebration had taken place but in the dreamy mind of a girl who lived on the twelfth floor. She had retreated from her usual post at the window to eat her dinner, and Crucifia resented that her own meal should require an extra expenditure of time before it was eaten. If ever such a thing existed, this was a night for staying indoors.
         
    The air was unwelcomingly still, mutedly still, as if it resented being inhabited but refused to speak up out of courtesy. The slightest gust of wind would have been all that was needed to upset the suspense that hung in the air, but no such gust offered itself. Crucifia's heels clicked more rapidly on the pavement. The quickest route was through an ugly alleyway. On any other evening she would have forgone this route, but tonight she wanted only to return to her small, warm apartment and eat her stew as quickly as possible. The crisp click of her footfalls was muted by the soft dust of the secluded street, and the muscles in her calves stood out as she pushed against the yielding earth.  Around her were the pitiful walls of abandoned cafes and theatres, the remnants of a cultural revolution that failed. They peeled as she walked past them, as if they wanted her to know that they were lonely. Opposite the walls stood gray-shingled toolsheds and tall fences of chain link and razor wire. As she walked she couldn't help but let her gaze wander into the yards and climb their ancient trees, a diversion from the dullness of a straight line. As she exited the alley she felt eyes upon her. She had learned not to meet the eyes when she felt them in this way.
         
      She clutched a brown paper package of animal parts as she left the butchery. There had been a new clerk at the counter and he had frightened her. He had glared into the pits of her eyes as she imagined a snake would glare at its prey. She had noticed a snake tattooed around his forearm. But she was on her way home now, and she walked as quickly as she could without changing her gait to a run. The blue was fading from the lens of the heavens. The air was still and quiet. In her mind she switched on her television and poured herself a glass of sherry.

    A storm from behind, and an impact. There was fire around her, or the air had ignited with rage. The fire sucked the air from the space around her in a great rush, and she could no longer breathe. Her senses were overwhelmed, and something was coiling around her neck and waist, pinning her arms and forcing her to the ground. A foul odor of alcohol and death was coming from the creature that was forcing her into the earth, grinding her bones into her flesh and her flesh into the dust. She thrashed and screamed for help, and all of this was overpowered by the paws that were everywhere, clapping over her mouth and crushing her lips to her teeth, restraining both of her small hands in one of his. Her blood rose up as if it sought to escape her body and set flame to her world as he raped her.
         

         Crucifia woke up in her bed and blinked several times. The cat was purring in the hallway. It knew only of itself, for it was blind.

Copyright 2007 Gabriel S. New