STATION X.V

I buried whatever version of myself this was long ago. I laid her with flowers, she hated flowers, but they looked nice with her. I don’t feel sad that she died, only for how long she laid dead before someone came to take her out of sight. Dead Girl dragging herself around, showing up in places she thought she could still belong. A corpse, a whisper, a lie.

On the third day when they came to see her body she was gone. She was gone and I was what was left. Returned from the dead, sent again, a demi-god, a zombie, a ghost.

They still ask where she is. Still drag this Dead Girl around. Sometimes I get tired of seeing image after image of myself on the crucifix. I want to come down, be human again. Be super-human, be sub-human. Be android, cyborg, avatar, born again, evil twin, humanoid, half-ling.

But when I came down from the cross they didn’t know me. They didn’t recognize me. When I asked them to put their hands in my wounds they looked through me. They asked where I was and didn’t hear me when I replied. They’re still looking for me, but I gave up calling out for them.

When the look for the Dead Girl, they’re not looking for the creature that ripped its clothes off and tore into the night. Covered itself in dirt and stick, became not human became not man, but man-wolf, wolf dog, werewolf. Feral and free. Howling at the lonely moon.