Manuscript

Mark Bogumil

Undulate

Pendulums swing between extremes

Morality

Black and White

Blurs

When earthquakes called decisions

Make unintended impacts

Actions pluck strings

On invisible spiderwebs

The waves they create

Their vibrations

Make their way

Winding through the mesh

As a water drop on a string

Back to their source

Undulate
 <3

When I first saw you

I was smitten with glee

An edgy, small punk girl

Here just to see me.

I acted myself

and I am quite the fool

How did I know I

would cause you to drool?

Things did progress

issues were faced

Months, then a year

at such a quick pace!

My heart, it grew bigger

My love faded for thots

I gave you my collar

My feels been caught,

Now you stand beside me

All freckles and smiles,

I’ve found what I need

and it’s been you all the while.

Reinvigorate

Challenges abound in a life

Faced with crippling self doubt

Fears of ephermal boogymen waiting, Stalking

Behind every decision

To Tear out the trachea

Of your confident facade.

Monsters lurking

Skulking, creeping, cackling

At your hidden desperation

Behind every closed door

Down all winding paths…

They’ve multiplied their ranks

Sharpened their poison claws.

I’ve let them.

I’ve slipped.

I’ve fed them.

I give them weapons

Every time I hesitate.

I was once

In near past

Strong

I will be again

In near future

Strong

I feel the confidence blooming

A beautiful flowering vine

Coiling around my now fertile core

Adding to, reinforcing, growing

Each of it’s petals consist of

A single

Grateful

Positive

Thought.

Each petal glistens

Wet with my love

Their dew drops fall

Into existence with the gravity that besets optimism.

Upon impact with my grounded core they splash, vaporize.

The mist they make puts a pressure in my body.

A warm feeling in my stomach, which must be released

In the form of one tiny act of appreciation

A solid compliment.

Frustration

A pitter, a patter

and a cute piggish nose,

A penchant for warm bathes

and adorable clothes,

I am cute

I am tough

I will stab you

If you misstep your foot

In the buff

My nose shakes

My nose wiggles

Always searching for food

Make me angry

You’ll get a big attitude.

When inside there is one thing

I want but can’t get

It’s holding and warmth

and to receive pets

My spikes and my spines

keep love at bay

Protective and distant

they are my dismay

For I am a hedgehog

it’s truer than true

What I want

more than anything...

Is just to be you.

Terminal Velocity

In less than a second

I am hurtled mercilessly

By the angry god of fate

Towards the cold hard Earth.

I blink, the next thing I sense

Is that I may die

The dark navy sky

Of the early morning

Ruthlessly benign

Crimson blood covers my body

Sealing my eyes shut

I wipe away the shroud of shame

Only to see around me

A dark and dreary alley

Bushes obstruct views

Nobody can find me

Nobody will know.

Puddle of warmth,

My blood seeps away

I can not move

I am alone

I gather strength to lift my head,

Pain flashes bright white

When it subsides,

I glance toward the street

Past an insurmountable galaxy

That spans far less than I could throw.

I see light between brambles,

A glimmer of hope, grasped

As a lone car cruises by

Crushed, the street cannot reveal me.

Alone and helpless

Salvation unreachable

A mere twenty feet away.

My thoughts race

My heart pounds

Trapped in broken body

To suffer slow death

The Land of Milk and Honey

A dream inspired tale by Mark Bogumil

 I came to conciousness in a setting that resembled a park. Small gatherings of people

meandered about, murmuring amongst themselves. Where was I? The way these people stood,

the hushed but hurried voices, how their glances darted around like frightened animals in a

slaughter house. It reeked of desperation. In moments, I felt it, too. It was an infectious fear,

shared unknowingly simply by existing, a herd instinct that said “leave now.” As much as I

resisted, an aura of negativity immediately consumed me. Primal fear, anger, and hopelessness

loomed over the landscape – as if the very air itself was poisoned with fetid emotion, given life

through whatever cortex in my brain it is that communicates, wordlessly with others.

I began to regain some small semblance of composure, relearning the ability to separate

myself from this terrible feeling, I took in my surroundings further. I found myself upon a quaint

hill, damp grass beneath me, with a group of strangers that stood – nervously fidgeting, mind you

- around me. We observe the environment together. It is… eerily in itself… ‘unspoken’ that we

are trapped here. With whatever ancient reflex, whatever sense that feels the energy at a funeral

and absorbs you into compassion and sadness, I realized something. That each and every one of

us is here against our will, and desperately want to escape. To anywhere but here. It is well

understood that this is not a pleasant place – that something is very, very wrong here. That

feeling that something very, very bad has happened, will happen, or is happening – that feeling

happened here.

I found it unsettling… yet somehow at the same time, comforting, that my new

companion-prisoners were not panicking. If I was anywhere but here, in this tiny group that
seems to have their shit together, I would be curled into a fetal ball begging for maternal aid that

will never come.

No, I am no longer afraid. Nobody in this small group, the few who can keep their wits

about them during dangerous times, they all felt it too. Mothers, daughters, soldiers, peasants,

miners, bankers, men, children – we are no longer these things. For this place, it far surpasses

the limits of fear. There is only so much a mind can take before fear evolves into something else.

This place, and the spectacles within it, lands me squarely into depths of despair I have never felt

before. My heart sinks, and I do not fear death. I do not fear no longer existing. I do not fear the

end, nor for my friends and family and what would happen if I were to die. My mind folds upon

itself selfishly inward, to my own still living body, and I fear everything else that may happen to

me before deaths sweet embrace erases my existence into a long peaceful slumber. I scramble,

desperately attempting escape from my inner sense of dread.

I see trees, but none like I have ever born witness to before. These trees are ancient, their

trunks wider that I am tall. They… glisten? I look away. I hesitate to look a bit closer… but I

must, and as I do, I see their gnarled and slimy bark – so infested with rot that one could strip it

bare with nothing but a finger. Like a coat of algae on a backyard pool forgotten for years,

rancorous, but somehow indeed still alive. The leaves among them grow, a dark, deep green,

almost black – but they grow their serrated edges. How do they survive in this place, what sort

of energy are these behemoth growths absorbing? This confuses me greatly - because as I look
around, I realize there is no sun to fuel them. We are in a perpetual, monotone twilight, lit dimly

and evenly purple-blue - like a fresh, deep bruise upon my my psyche.

Fitting lighting for a forever static realm where the urgency and fear of what is to come

ascend to higher importance than death. I breath deeply, considering the emotions that shake my

body to its core, attempting lucidity, attempting in desperate fashion to determine something

normal to ground me. Have I gone insane, drugged, dying, all three at the same time? No,

this… I do not know what this is, and I do not know why, yet I even know that asking the others

would be a fruitless endevour as words bubble from my mouth like soap bubbles bursting above

a sink – bursting as soon as they are formed, their components dropping into the void and down

an unseen drain before they can reach their listeners. Only I can hear their meaning - the sounds

I can create seem not to connect together as I am overwhelmed with a sense of dread and sadness

worse than a grieving a thousand loved ones deaths. This feeling, this.. connection.. keeps

causing me to slip in and out of being able to communicate anything at all besides the most basic

grunts, reverted to the primal mind of tribal antiquity, my mind slipping, slipping away, myself

powerless to stop it. I need to escape this place, this I know. But how?

I look at the sky and notice the reason for the melancholy droll light that forsakes color

into shades of cold colors – I look, and watch… the sky is a dark, twilight lit purple – ribbons of

brighter purple ebb and flow through it. They brighten and darken as if it was a moving

surrealist painting of the Northern Lights - one that echoes the artists ever decaying sanity.
 The stars in the sky somehow warp, move and pulse slightly as time passes, creating new

unsettling constellations. There is no Orien, big dipper, Jupiter, or moon. There never will be,

as the flickers of light given by what I assume are stars somewhere far off in the galaxies,

shifting independently of each other. Closer, farther away, ever so slowly, without pattern,

rhyme, or reason. As I am hypnotized by the dark, surreal beauty of this scene, I feel cursed by

the very sky - as if it did this on purpose to ensure that there is no comforting constant here, no

grounding familiarity. Nothing is familiar anymore, and with the feelings inside of me, even I

am not familiar with myself.

As I hold back my shivering once again, fighting for ownership of my own mind, I push

back the most dreadful, melancholy, tortuous sensation of dread I have I have ever felt. One

more time, into the brink, I regain control of my decaying will – I am determined to escape - I

see a river surging in the distance. I hear the faint sound of moving water… a babbling brook,

bringing back memories of childhood playing in the smooth rocks worn by time near the Finger

Lakes. As I listen, I am comforted for a mere moment of lucidity. Oh, so sweet memories can

become when faced with the unreconcilable pain and torment I feel and know is coming.

I step towards the stream, it beckons me with memories of upturning rocks, crawfish,

newts and waterbugs. I have finally anchored a memory of myself, and who I was, hope. Until I

smell the scent. The scent of bile, putrid, acidic. If I had not felt this feeling of utter despair, I

would have retched in the aroma of vile week old vomit, feces, and dead animals. I get close

enough to the stream, the grass around it is flourishing. Taller than the rest, lighter in color…

and I look into the flowing waters. What I gaze upon is something I will never forget.
 A thick, viscous yellow liquid laced with… solids, moves before me. The smell assaults

my senses as I step slowly, stammer forward to near the waters edge. Liquid enough to be called

liquid, it is more like a terrible porridge made of… is that a human foot? It is. Now, I do not

struggle to comprehend. All I know is that I abandoned the group of gurgling, gesturing people

in order to be a several seconds walk closer to this abomination. I look back, they are no longer

there.

I wonder why a river would have a leg flowing upon it’s disgusting surface… carried

along with it. I see the occasional corpse float by, nearly whole (which somehow, gives me hope

I do not understand,) and realize as my logical mind fades back into a place I can find it, another

horror. That this river – this river is made of some sort of acid. The corpses and body parts are

being eaten, dissolved into a putrid soup. An absolute, unpassable barrier. Trapping us here, on

this side of this… whatever it is. I wonder about the truncated anatomy, soft around the edges,

veins and muscle fibers hanging out are floating… I pass in an out of consciousness.

I am awake again, somehow still standing. As I turn away from the river in which whose

stench burns my eyes and nostrils, my eyes widen when I notice that there are corpses, corpses

that are chained to the trees. Rotting and eviscerated, the eye sockets of various large animals

stare deeply and I feel they, too, understand what I feel. Not understood, but understand, as if

they are still passing in and out of lucidity… like myself. Lifeless bodies of goats, deer and other
horned animals seem to empathize with me, as well as others too far decomposed to have the

most minute chance of discerning their species.

I notice the remains dangle, delicately arranged on the trees. As if your most

psychopathic ex-lover decided to forego the pretty glass ornaments for Christmas, and instead

opted to use the bodies of animals they had slaughtered during that night last October that your

phone died and you stayed the night at your friends. Arranged in a psychopathic manner to warn

us against attempts to escape.

I speak with the group and discover that there.. there may be a a way out of this awful

torturous purgatory. There is a pathway by the creek that is rumored to be the only route in and

out. A pathway that begins between two trees. Two trees that nobody has ever stepped between

before, out of sheer fear of the consequences. Two trees, posts to a gate. A gateway that nobody

can pass. A gateway, of sorts. Our only way out. I had to try.

I gathered a few souls desperate enough to not heed the warnings of the sky, the rotting

corpses, or the creek made of bile and acid. Two women, one in her late 40s and one in her early

20s. After much careful deliberation, we approach the two trees.

I notice something odd about the trees. As I move in to examine them closer, the sound of

thunder so loud that the vibrations throw me off balance. Suddenly, I am overwhelmed with an

aura of sadistic malice. As if I had just stepped into the territory of an insane god who's idea of
fun was flaying the skin off of animals at disco-themed dinner parties, videotaping their screams

to his torture buddies. A sense of fear stronger than I have ever feared before courses through my

veins with a tempo quick enough to make me dizzy. That is when I noticed it.

These trees, the corpses are different. Arranged in a more intricate manner. The tree

farther from the creek- it was lined with the corpses of goats. Chained together by their hooves,

they hung. Hung so tightly together around the trunk that they suspend themselves several feet

off the ground, forming a twisted wreath of bodies around the trunk. They are suspended

vertically, interlaced – one with it's head facing the dark miasmatic sky, the next upside down

with it's head facing the nightshade laden grass.

The tree closer to the creek is daisy chained in a similar manner – except with naked

eviscerated human bodies. Their guts spill from their stomachs, oozing wounds adorn their

bodies. As I inch my way closer, another burst of thunder surprises me and knocks me off my

feet. A flash of lightning blinds me. When I am able to see again, I glance up at the trees and

realize that in a split second, things have changed. Every corpse now has crude stitches around

their necks, and I see it. The rotting corpses have swapped heads. It is now the human bodies that

have heads of goats haphazardly sewn onto their bodies, and goats now have the heads of

humans.

As I check on my companions after this blinding flash, I see out of the corner of my eye –

the corpses. Their faces. Their lips... they curl up at the corners, as if each body had to invisible
fish hooks grasping at the corners of their mouth. Realizing that these are no longer just lifeless

bodies, I begin to grab my two friends to make a mad dash for it.

As my foot hits the ground, the very earth we stand on begins to cave in beneath our feet.

Chunks of grass are swallowed by a schism in this incorporeal ground. They sink into a fetid,

rotting quicksand of viscera, bodily fluids, and acid. Piece by piece, large squares of grass are

sucked down into the deadly concoction. Only seconds later, we are left with no more ground to

stand on, and we fall into its depths.

All three of us struggle to exit as the acid begins to melt our skin. Intolerable pain

overwhelms us, each centimeter of our skin sending cries of agony through our nervous systems.

We claw like wild animals, madly grabbing at the sides of the pit – only pulling more of the earth

into the pit. Every desperate grasp we make causes the pit to grow. Unable to hold onto the side

of the pit, we sink deeper. Unable to keep our heads over the surface, we begin to drown. We

bob up and down, uselessly flopping around in the viscous mixture of decayed matter as we gasp

madly for air in the moments we can keep out heads above the fluid. Soon, we are unable to keep

ourselves afloat. Our lungs frantically convulse, and the acid begins to fill our lungs.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the older woman. She is standing still, and she is able

to keep her head above the caustic bath! It dawns upon me, and my mind is filled with the

realization that if I stand at the side of the pit, and do not attempt escape – we can barely keep

our heads above the surface. If we do not struggle against this hell that we are entombed in, we
will be saved an even worse one. We resign ourselves to our fates, and stand, barely able to

breath, neck deep in acidic rotting human remains.

The younger lady, a skinny girl with light hair, does not grasp this concept. She flails

madly, trying to stay afloat. I realize she is going to die, so I reach out my hand to her, in an

attempt to save her.

She grasps it. I pull her to my side of the pit, where I am able to grasp a root poking down

the side. I cannot speak, as I am drowning in viscera. I can not tell her "Stand still!" and she

continues to struggle. She then attempts to climb up my back, shoving my head into the acidic

bile with her weight as her nails dig into my flesh in vapid desperation for salvation. I gasp for

air, head hunched forward, face ever so slightly out of the liquid. She perches on my back,

scrambling to find her way out, as she kicks and fights. We are going to die.

The last thing I see before I die is the older woman. She is standing calmly, accepting her

fate and mine. She looks on calmly - with no expression, no concern.

Tedium

Wake up to the sound of your neighbors lovemaking. Reset the alarm clock to an hour
later. Sleep is important. Stand up and shake off the feeling of disbelief. Walk to the bathroom,

use it, walk out. Forget to flush. Walk back in, flush, walk out.

Lay back in bed. Decide on a different blanket. It's too hot in here. Turn the heater

down. Lay the blanket across your lap, but not over your chest. Turn onto your side so the

sweat can dry off your back. Nightmares. Nightmares of monsters and screaming fill your

mind.

Fall back asleep, wake up in a different world. Find out you are dreaming after several

implausible events begin not to add up. Friends in your dream have blue tongues, but yours is

green so embarrassment ensues. Embarrassed about what? Green is so much better than red.

Decide on that, and you won't feel ashamed for being green. Wake up an hour before your

alarm. Fail to fall back asleep. Decide.

Go downstairs, speak to the neighbors. Feed them lies and half truths. Tell them their

TV was too loud last night. Tell them the movie they had on was really bland, that it sounded

like the story of two zombies having a slap-fight over a fresh meal. Wailing, moaning,

thumping. Must have been real boring. Did you fall asleep? Because I didn't. Hint, hint.

Walk outside, see other neighbor get into car. Hear her moans in your head. Fight the

inner demon compelling you to let her know you know her bedroom fantasies by now. Fight

urge to tell her you could do it better.

 End up leaving for work, stop for a sandwich. Compare the nutritional benefits of ham

vs. turkey, google it on your phone. Consider the ethical ramifications of eating meat, disregard

them. Shovel sandwich down throat. Moan in satisfaction.

My first paycheck

Two weeks. Two weeks of hell. Two weeks spent organizing knick-knacks to what

amounted to a glorified flea market – a glorified flea market that just happened to be positioned

on the most decadent of yuppie, hipster-esque street in town.

“I never should have took this job” is a phrase that repeated itself, that echoed through

what remained of my weary over-worked mind as I ceaselessly organized the near worthless

Chinese imported decorations and novelties. For junk the owner ordered on an obscure Chinese

(at least I think that's where it came from) drop shipping website, it sure was flying off the

shelves – at ten times what the owner paid for it.

It was all worth it, every order barked at me, every-ill concieved bohemian query. The

pay was legit. I'm talking three times what my friends made legit. Thirty-two dollars an hour

legit – and that was after I figured taxes into the equation. For the life of me, I didn't know what

I did to land this job. I was just in the right palce at the right time, I guess.
 I was walking down the street, thousand dollar bicycles whizzing by me, well groomed

dogs strutting past when I came upon an elderly gentlemen dressed in black. Black slacks, black

shoes, black tie, black vest. Only thing that wasn't black was a silver chain attached to a peculiar

pocket watch poking out of his vest pocket.

I asked him was he was doing as he stared emptily at the vacant storefront. He replied, in

a somewhat devious tone, “This... is my future. I own this building now.” I paused, hesitated for

a bit and settled on a ever-so-slightly snide question. “What are you going to do with 'your

future', open a Hot Topic?” His gaze transferred from being fixed on the storefront, to being

fixed on me.

He glanced from my eyes, to my feet, to my eyes – not once moving his head. I fought

the urge to squirm as an uncomfortable sensation shook through me. He waited a moment, eyes

locked on mine as if he were trying to scare me off. When I didn't move for several seconds, he

smiled wryly. As if to acknowledge my courage, he gingerly took his watch out of his pocket,

depressed the button on top and then began walking in the direction I came. As he strode by me,

he stopped. Shoulder to shoulder, as we facing opposite directions, he uttered to me some of the

best advice I've ever received. “Mind you're own god damn business.”

Editorial note: This is the beginning of a story regarding a girl who’s first job is at a curio shop

that sells cursed antiquities.