Content warnings

Depression. Suicide.

Gayle spent a lot of time in bed letting her weight press into the mattress. The blankets were piled on top of her in a heap of warmth that was never as comforting as she needed it to be.

She took pills that looked like planets and tasted like dust. They were supposed to keep her from this wallowing stillness when all they really did was keep the Ultimate Stillness at bay.

Every so often, her boyfriend would come and put his hand on her cheek and ask if something was wrong, if she took the tiny planets, if there was anything he could do. She could hear his heart breaking every time. Gayle would just lie there, breathing shallow breaths, until eventually he would go, leaving behind a new, cold glass of water to wash down the tiny planets.

Gayle knew the time was coming when he would leave her and be gone for good, or he would ask her to leave. A year was a long time to watch someone be still. She tried to feel the affection she must have had for him once, to feel anything, but her feelings remained at rest, unmovable until something much greater than her acted upon them.

There was no such thing as time underneath the heap. There was only the silence that was sometimes interrupted by the boyfriend and the gentle tap of the water glass until the boyfriend and the water glasses stopped coming. Then the apartment seemed to be still forever. Dust gathered on the heap, on her hand resting on the floor, on the childproof bottles full of tiny planets.

Something feathered nuzzled her hand, tickling her palm with its softness. Gayle moved, her hand instinctively recoiling in surprise.

don’t look.

The voice was high like a whisper that came from somewhere inside Gayle, vibrating through her tickled palm and echoing through her bones. Obediently, she kept her eyes closed, though they begged her to open.

sit.

Gayle pushed the heap off of herself, off of the edge of the bed, where it landed with a soft thump. Her bones cracked and popped as she shifted. She didn't realize how sore being still could make you. She tasted the disturbed dust in the air as she sat up and rested her feet on the cold, bare, wooden floor of her bedroom.

There was a sound, too heavy to be fluttering, but definitely the sound of wings, and then the feeling of three-taloned toes digging into her calf. Gayle felt the ghost of a feeling as she let out a small gasp of pain.

touch.

Gayle slowly brought her hand to her lap, where the creature had made a nest. It kneaded her legs with its talons before it settled. Her fingers eventually found its beak, which lead to its feathered head, which she gently stroked down to its back. From its back sprouted two leathery objects with delicate bones that Gayle could feel beneath the skin. At the base of the back, more feathers gave way to a tail that was long and scaly and slick.

do you know what i am?

Gayle shook her head, but somewhere in her mind, she thought she knew.

i am the Ultimate Stillness.

Gayle felt her heart beating in her fingertips.

She felt the creature’s chest expand against her belly as it breathed.

She felt cold as the creature emitted no heat, like a stone left out in the winter.

She felt the dust in her throat as she breathed, and her eyes itching to open, and the creaking of the bones in her fingers as they were called to motion for the first time in a long time. Gayle wanted to move. Gayle wanted to keep moving.

open your eyes.

“No,” Gayle whispered. Her eyelids fluttered as the tears escaped. She felt the creature’s head stretch up to look at her, her hand sliding off the top of its head. She placed her hand next to her on the bed, gripping the sheet. Her eyelids felt cold, still waiting to open despite the danger, and she knew the creature was looking at them. Eventually, there was the release of the talon's pressure, and the flapping of heavy wings that scraped against her thighs. The weight of the creature was off of her.

When the slithering sound of the creature's tail on the hardwood floor was gone, Gayle opened her eyes.

END

Emlyn Meredith Dornemann

Emlyn Meredith Dornemann is a queer fantasy and horror writer and editor living in Milwaukee, WI with their husband and two cats. Their work has previously appeared in Flash Fiction Online, Trollbreath Magazine, and Flash Point SF. They are an alum of the Stonecoast MFA program.