The Core

  The world behind Apple’s eyelids often calls back the memory of a static television, back from the years of bunny ears and tin-foil antennas. A burned-in moment from her childhood, when in that twilight hour void of mankind’s direction, nothingness gave witness to the birth of shapes. Random scan lines lay structured by yet undiscovered forces. Her little hands had gripped the TV set, awe-struct as planets of grey then exploded like supernovas before Apple’s pupils drew in on the outline of veins that pulsed like worms under skin. A shock of electricity had left the realm of static then, zapping Apple’s hands as the images transferred themselves into her eyes. Now in the structure of her flesh, she sees the sun-lit outlines of pink universes and bloody hungry tendrils.

Apple’s lids flutter open, moist unformed tears clinging to decorated lashes before a gloved hand can wipe them away. Looking to her right, green eyes focus on the swirl of movement beyond the window. Band stickers form a frame around the woodsy landscape whipping by. Without blinking, Apple swipes a hand through her pixie-length brown hair, affirming the tinfoil bow barrettes are still in place above her temples. Apple’s palm pauses over her earbuds, the gentle thrum of “Flesh of my Flesh” tickling the skin beneath her cotton-covered fingers.

            The sign for Biddeford Maine comes into view ahead on the road, Apple’s lips barely move as she whispers the words, “A Proud City Rising where the Water Falls.”

            Pressing her hands together over the lap of her blue dress, the dangling beads of a rosary fall free from her sleeve to be intertwined between each finger. A muscular arm nudges Apple’s shoulder before a tan hand slips across her lap, fisting between Apple’s praying hands. With a pop of Apple’s glossy lips, she turns her head to the seatmate beside her. Half-open lids dance like butterflies over pitch-black eyes, giving way to a stubby nose and thin lips that dip into obscurity above Honey’s gapped smile.  

            “Well, good evening my sw’eet Crumble Pie. Have a good re’st?”

Honey’s words whistle out, a whisper above the song in Apple’s ears. Rough fingers work their way between Apple’s, replacing the beads with Honey’s firm digits. Apple pulls her hands away, slipping the rosary beads back beneath her sleeve, allowing the dangling crucifix to fall between the dip in her palm. Turning her eyes away from Honey, she focuses on the patterned seat her long bare legs rest against, though her lips sour as she notes the noisy cosmic barf pattern of purple Uranus’s mixed with gum residue Pluto’s.

            With a clearing of her throat, Apple turns her head back to Honey, “I was not sleeping, simply resting my eyes and listening to music.” Apple’s eyes flick down to the little iPod shuffle clipped to her blazer, “This song by Leon Patillo…. It made me think of you.”

“Oh?” Honey’s lidded eyes widen as she dips her head of short-cropped black hair next to Apple’s, ear to ear. Before the beat of “I will stand right by your side - whatever comes our way” can reach her ears, Apple cocks her head to the side bopping Honey away. Honey’s words hiss out, “You are a pain in my a’ss!”

A little smile begins to part Apple’s lips but vanishes as they and the bus are plunged into sudden darkness. Her hands shoot out for Honey’s, gripping them so tight that sweat moistens her grip.

“Hey, hey – it’s okay.” Honey coo’s, “We’re just in a tunnel, lil bit of darkne'ss before the ocean light.”

Apple’s lips mutter out a verse from Isaiah, “I create the light and make the darkness. I send good times and bad times. I, the Lord, am the one who does these things. Open up,” Soft blue light filters up from the now lit screen of Honey’s phone, the glowing image showing off the heat-baked faces of a women’s rowing team. Apple’s words slow as she takes a breath, “O heavens, and pour out your righteousness. Let the earth open wide so salvation and righteousness can sprout up together. I, the Lord, created them.” 

Light pours back into the bus, a row of docks now visible in the distance. 

 “S’ee! You’re so tense! Lil bit of s'un and libation will do you good!”

Apple’s cheeks crease with a scowl as the bus comes to a jolting stop, its tires creaking before the door whirls open. A flurry of elders waddles past before Honey hops out of her seat, stretching her arms with an overhead flex before grabbing their bags. All the while, Apple clicks through her music, the soothing sound of violin and piano replacing the loud chug of the stalling engine. Travis Ryan’s chorus plays out, “Resurrection life, you gave up your spirit to give it to your bride. You gave up your spirit to come and live inside us”. The song hums out as Apple follows Honey down the aisle away from the bus and to the docks. Gentle waves splash against the worn wood that expands into the sea. Only a few people remain in the seaside lot, a few stoner types sit alongside the metal dock cleats. The stranger's gazes are hidden behind thick sunglasses. 

Apple spins around on the dock, eyeing the crowd as she holds her bag to her gut, “This doesn’t look like a Jesus Jamboree…”

"About that…” A colorful bus arrives then, its yellow paint smattered with peace signs and weather-wilted flowers. “This is s’orta like if… Jesus Jamboree met Firefest – except in a le’ss let’s eat the rich and blood of Christ kind of way.”

“I got a cat sitter for this, Honey! You sent me a link for Wood islands bible study and sleep away!”

“Little Lazarus will be fine! I’ll pay back whatever you spent. This will be great!” Honey locks her elbow with Apples, “We’ve been grinding our teeth and bones since midterms, we deserve a spring break that’s actually fun!”

“Bible study is fun…”

Honey pouts, “Your idea of fun is stargazing, mine’s time in the water. Wham – night on an island! It is the first moon of spring tonight, salty air in our lungs - compromise!” 

Apple stares.

  With her free hand, Honey gently grabs a hold of Apple’s chin, squishing her lips as she manipulates out the letters, “C-o-m-p-r-o-m-i-s-e.”

Apple fidgets with the hem of her skirt, “You won’t be drinking, right?”

Honey smiles, “Nope!” She opens her backpack, revealing a half dozen water bottles and supplies, “I’ve got all the drug-free water and food we’ll need for a night of Godly enjoyment.” Honey shoves a hand into the bag and pulls out a tiny brown book, “I even brought the travel bible you got me for my birthday last year.”

Apple smiles a little, shoulders relaxing, “Alright.”

Honey beams, gapped smile on full blast, her dark eyes turning from Apple to the approaching ferry.

“All aboard!” 

Grabbing the sleeve of Apple’s blazer, Honey leads her aboard the small ship and to the front deck. The strangers in the lot also travel aboard, the decorated van letting out another group of island-ready twenty-somethings. 

A tall man winks at Apple and Honey as he lugs a heavy bag onto the ship.

Honey elbows Apple’s side lightly, whispering, “Lil bit of well-built wood on Wood island.”

Mr. Vanilla white and tall, strides up to the front of the boat, leaning in a purposeful criss-cross arm manner to show off his voluptuous biceps. Shaking his shaggy blond hair out of his eyes, he lets a pearly smile aim its rays at the ladies, “Good afternoon! Excited to see some new blood at this year’s event! What are you fine ladies’ names?”

“Big St’rap Mama at AOL dot com.” Honey winks.

His smile drops, “And your name?”

“Apple.”

His lips quirk, a deep dimple forming in his pale skin, “Apple is a cute name! Sounds like you’ve got some new-age hippy parents!” His eyes scan her from her tennis shoes to the little barrettes sparkling in the afternoon sun, his brown eyes focus on the silver cross nestled between her collar bones, “Don’t go telling me you’re a good Christian girl up for some rebelling on our island o’ sin? Tired of just praying on your knees?”

“My parents are Jewish.”

  He stares, mouth slightly open as if he had been prepping a follow-up line.

  “But their view of Olam Habah doesn’t compare to the hellish rebuke Catholicism offers, so unless getting on my knees before you can bring about the resurrection – I’m good.”

Without another word, he turns on his boot heel, disappearing into another group of island goers. 

Honey whistles, “He made it a whole fifteen seconds, that’s a new record!”

Thumbing the cool metal of the cross, Apple joins Honey on a bench.

 Rolling her eyes as she says, “No man compares to Christ.”

“Is it the abs? Every time you bring me to church, he’s just up there! I don’t get why he’s gotta be dying for our sins and looking scrumptiou’s at the same time – screw the shroud – get him a shirt!”

Apple’s eyes narrow on Honey. 

Honey chuckles, “Guess you’re stuck with me tonight.”

About half an hour passes as the ferry travels along the gentle waves, eventually the small island comes into sight. Wood Island is barely larger than the parking lot they traveled from. The rocky shore gives way to a decaying dock that scents the air with mold and sea life. Apple scowls, surveying the shrubby land ahead, the chimney-like white lighthouse with matching ranch-style home next to it is barely visible over the cluster of dry woods. The wood of the dock buckles audibly as the group disembarks from the boat, fanning out in a hike towards the opposite shore. 

“Not much to look at is it?” Honey quips, beckoning Apple to follow. 

“I’m sure it has its charm…” 

  Seagulls flock overhead, watching from the branches of nearby trees. Apple looks over her shoulder, pausing to watch the ferry disembark. A few old rowboats bob along in the small waves around the dock. A whistle from Honey regains Apple's attention and they continue forward, pushing through the overgrown branches that wander across the pale sandy path. After a few minutes of walking, a clearing forms ahead, the lighthouse center stage to their view. To the left, the shrubby grasslands have been claimed by tents. To the right, the expansive white sand beach is dotted with sound equipment and fire pits in the process of being made. 

Honey spins around, hands up and fingers wiggling, “This will be great come nightfall! The lighthouse will be turned off so we can see the meteor shower with no light pollution!” 

Still spinning, Honey grabs hold of Apple and coerces her into the jovial movement.  Apple smiles, picking up speed as they spin, eventually collapsing in on each other out of exhaustion and laughter. Pulling back, Apple readjusts her backpack. 

“Where are we camping tonight?” Apple asks. 

Honey pats dust from her pants, “This way.”

Slowly, they make their way through the campground. Around thirty small tents are set up back to back, some more extravagant than others and some seemingly abandoned in lieu of the beach excitement. Near the end of the camp, Honey points to a twin-sized green tent, picking up a paper tag along its chord that reads “Chokma and Lopez.”

“Home s’weet home!” Honey unzips the tent and plops herself inside, writhing around on the crinkly plastic as she pulls items from her bag. 

Ducking her head in, Apple says, “It’s a bit - intimate.”

Honey snorts, “You act as if we’ve never s’lept together.” Sitting up, Honey is nose to nose with Apple, “Not in the biblical sen’se - but c’mon, last year's bible camp has to count for s’omething. You, me, that s’weaty girl Mary - we s’lept in a tent not much bigger than thi’s!”

Apple’s eyes shift along the tent walls, after another moment she throws her bag in next to Honey and wiggles in, using the bag as a pillow. 

“That’s the s’pirit!” 

“This place smells worse than the church's cellar.”

Honey gasps before letting out a trickle of laughter.

Dusk is beginning to set in outside the thin plastic of the tent, the island landscape turning as dark as the waters around it except for the now lit pyres along the beach. 

“Let’s check out the lighthouse! We should be able to get a great view up there!” Honey says, stowing two water bottles in her cargo pants. 

“Oh… Sure! That would be kind of cool actually.”

  Following the trail to the lighthouse, the sounds of squawking gulls mix with the night's early cries of exuberance from the beach. Apple pauses at the bottom of the steps, wearily eyeing the narrow spiral staircase disappearing above. 

"Is this place... up to code?" 

Honey runs a hand along the bricks of the entranceway, flakes of paint sticking to her palm. 

"It is still an active lighthou'se, so... " She shrugs, taking Apple's hand and slowly leading her up the first flight of stairs. 

"The lighthou'se was built in 1808 out of wood!" Honey's voice echo's as they walk, "Now I think it's made of granite or s'omething."

"Anything interesting ever happened on the island?" 

Honey pauses, "Nope!" 

As they reach the top of the fifty-foot lighthouse, a gust of sea air whooshes through Apple's bob of hair. Honey takes an audible gasp in, walking forward to the railing that circles the beacon room. Apple walks forward slowly, placing each tennis shoe'd step carefully on the metal catwalk. Eventually, Apple reaches the banister. Standing side by side, they stare forward with their backs to the giant beacon, taking in the night. the ocean and sky are the same inky black, the dancing lights of the meteors reflected in the oil pitch waves. 

"They're beautiful!" Apple whispers, clutching the banister.

There is no reply from Honey, but her tan hand slides gently over Apple's, carefully holding her gloved hand. The sky is alive with movement. Streaks of red and blue explode in brilliant detail as the distant rocks puddle jump over the Earth's atmosphere. The only sounds around them are the calming whistle of wind through the lighthouse and the barely audible party music below, and the gentle sounds of kissing. Looking away from the sky, Apple turns her head to see two women tucked behind the spotlight. Moonlight glistens off a moist breast, pink lips and white teeth trailing along the bosom of a tall slender woman. All enjoyment fades from Apple's face. Slowly, Honey turns to see what Apple is staring at. 

"Oh!" Honey gasps, letting out a nervous chuckle as she tries to refocus Apple on the sky. 

The two women take notice of them now, standing fully, their limbs still interlocked in intimate comfort. 

"Whoops, we thought you two were just the lighthouse ghosts, didn't realize we had a live audience!" The tall woman chuckles as she speaks, her hands playing with the long ponytails of the shorter woman whose head is still nestled in her exposed breasts. 

"Ghosts?" Apple whimpers out, her eyes darting from the women to the staircase below.

Honey scoffs, "They're just messing with us, Apple."

"Apple?" The shorter woman coo's, "Is she the apple of your eye?"

  Honey focuses her dark eyes on the woman.

The two women whisper in unison, “It is the legend of Milliken and Hobbs - a rent agreement gone - violent!” 

  The short woman steps forward, “They say if you stand perfectly still you can hear their footsteps.”

Apple's breath catches in her throat.

  “And,” the tall woman claps her hands, chest jiggling with the movement, “The sound of the gunshot that took Hobbs life!”

Apple fidgets with her rosary absently, the wooden beads pressed to her lips. Honey just scowls, nodding her head with arms crossed. 

"That's not a very scary story." Honey bemoans. 

The two women grab hold of each other again, hands tracing each other's upper bodies. 

"No, but it is hot to do it in a murder scene! You two can join if you want, give the dead man something exciting to watch!" They giggle, mouths returning to a quick-paced embrace. 

Before Apple can stop herself, she's running down the steps, the rusty railing biting at her gloved hands as she fights to keep her balance. With an explosion of speed, she dashes out of the lighthouse and back into the open air. She searches for something calming to look at.

Ahead the beach party is in full throttle, giant fire pyres dot the sand around the lighthouse. Loudspeakers pulse with club music, partygoers wandering from keg to water to the dance floor. Apple stops in her tracks, head swiveling to survey the scenery of barely clothed bodies swaying in the ocean breeze. Honey comes to stand beside her, eyes wide.

Apple huffs, “Why would you think I’d enjoy this?”

The question hangs around them for a moment, music pounding through the salty air as Honey takes a long sip from her water bottle, crunching it with her fist once finished. 

“Becau’se I’m here? Cu’z you like meteor showers? Cu’z we aren’t even doing any of the wild party shit! We can just walk to the deserted side of the beach and listen to some biblical song about Chri’st if it makes you happy.”

“We could do that back home, with members of the church around!”

Honey throws the crushed bottle into a distant fire, “So they could watch us? Glare at me every time I reach out to comfort you? Chaperone us?”

Apple wraps her arms around herself, “You act like that’s a problem.”

            “It is… “

Apple rubs at her elbow, gloved hands patting down her blazer as she looks with discomfort from the beach to Honey. 

Honey’s eyes narrow, “You wanna know what your problem i’s, Apple?” The darkness in Honey’s eyes spreads to her lips and chin as her words grind out, “You can’t relax! For one day, no, not one fucking moment! You act like you need punishment, scolding - you’re a masochist for the church to keep you in check! And I’m left holding you together in moments of fear!”

            Apple cowers away from Honey, her head and eyes darting up to the night sky and blinking stars above. A swift hand to her chin yanks Apple’s gaze back to Honey.

            “Don’t look up th’ere! No’things up th’ere! Ju’st rubble and magma and no air!” Honey’s fingertips dig into Apple’s cheeks, “Can’t you tell, you’re leaving me brea’th’less with your head in the clouds?”

Honey’s grasp lightens, her fingers now gently fixing Apple’s hair, “You chose the butche'st girl in school to hang out with! And it's been years now since you tried saving my s'oul – you like me! Accept it! Damn me to hell if it means I get a moment of peace with you!” Honey pulls her hand away, shoulders slumping.

“I don’t get what you mean… I don’t get your ability to push down your fear! I don’t understand the feeling in my chest when our skin touches! I don’t want to damn our souls, Honey! I fear what would come next...” The rosary wrapped around Apple’s wrist hangs down, her fingers twisting the chord. “You deserve better than some Chicken Little who thinks the sky is ready to fall. There is no salvation in loving me...” The words are a whisper above the thrall of party music.

"A'nd yet, I do love you, Apple."

Apple takes another step back from the beach, turning her back to Honey as she begins to walk in the direction of the tents. Wandering the cool aired wasteland of body shots and public fornication. The rosery has slid off of her wrist, now only held by one trembling finger. Among the soft glow of tents and tender noises mixing with crickets, one structure stands out, a viking-eque longhouse with steam trickling out of the roof. A woman with the stature of a child stands outside the longhouse. She is decorated in pink furs that glow against her milk pale skin, tiny fingers wrapped around a bedazzled ram’s horn tankard.

She extends the tankard towards Apple, “Thirsty?”

Apple thinks of just returning to their tent or finding the boats she saw on the dock and rowing herself back to the bus stop. Her eyes dart from the woman to the sea, mouth openly gasping the salty air while the decision to flee coaxes her tired mind. Instead, Apple grabs the horn and drinks deeply, coughing as the liquid slides down her throat.

 “God… is this what alcohol tastes like?”

The woman takes the sparkling horn back, swigging down the remainder, “No, this is just water – wit alil bit of acid.”

Apple’s eyes widen before returning to tired slits, “Oh God, like battery acid?”

The small woman drawls on, “And a few drops of DMT – stirred wit a sugar sticks worth a ketamine.”

“What?” Apple’s head swirls, her body finding comfort on the dirt floor inside the longhouse.

The woman follows Apple in, her lips open, tongue flickering out like a snake, “It's like a trip where you get to meet yourself.”

The sound of static fills the tent, Apple’s legs curl up against her chest as her hand's cup her ears. With fingertips gently stroke the barrettes in her hair as she closes her eyes. 

"Have you ever talked to the darkness inside you?”

Slipping into the steam filled darkness, the sandy ground underfoot - Apple - I - I am Apple - I feel the world shift below me. The sound of sizzling rocks giving way to the void of space, the sound of nothingness. The thrum of my heartbeat echoes, veins humming a melody. An old song of blood and ritual coming to life inside my chest. The skin on my hands begins to itch, I remove my gloves. Eyes still closed, I can see the glow of my scars, fiery runes decorating my palms.

I bring my hands to my ears, closing my eyes tighter against the blinding light the scars radiate. The music buds in my ears click on, a song Honey added to my playlist filling the cavern in my head. Sophie's “Heav3n Suspended” plays, soft electronic chords vibrate down my eardrums into my jaw. Slowly, I calm my breathing, the piano tones melding into droning like water drops in an ocean. Soft tones mix with the sound of static, a sort of background noise reminiscent of a Geiger counter detecting radiation. Opening my eyes, I see the woman sitting on the other side of the steam stones. The pink furs that cover her body writhe and move along her skin like caterpillars would along a snow covered shrub. 

The chorus kicks in, “Watch me touch myself - inside out - do turn out - inside out - upside down - do turn out” the words repeating over and over again, crescendoing into “I can see you like my name, let me rest it in your mouth..”. My eyes slam shut, a vision of Honey piercing my mind. I can see her dancing on the beach, her face contorted in anger but her movement elegant. Honey dances next to one of the beach pyres, giant flames backlit her athletic body as her hands trace up her curves to a beat I can’t hear. The song Honey picked for me fills this mental space too, seductive, it makes my body tremble. I can feel the heat of her body and the fire touch my skin as I watch her. It is as if I am dancing with her, except I am formless in this space. I try to reach out, to cup her cheek, but the moment I feel my essence connect with her the vision shatters. Glass shards scatter into the void, static showering down from above. 

My words tumble out of my throat, “What is this?”

The static coalesces into a small screen before me, the shape of an old rabbit eared television clicks into place around it. I see the shape of my own young body outlined in the static, watching. I remember - I remember the night of the storm that scarred my body. The old TV that had played that night's meteor shower, a once in a lifetime event that had been stolen from my view by the tropical storm outside my home. I’d been so focused on the pixelated meteors cascading across the TV set, I hadn’t noticed the lightning hitting outside. As I’d reached out my tiny hands, pink fingers splayed on the screen, the lightning had rained down through the roof's antenna and shattered that vision through the glass and into my skin. 

I look down at my hands, the scars are smoother now, years have passed since that moment. The doctors had been perplexed by the injury, the TV screen had in fact not shattered, and these were not burns. I fist my hands. The price of curiosity, of touching something I shouldn’t have.

"I'm coming to you."

The words, or, the language penetrating the white void to send a shiver through my soul. Something old, forgotten, powerful. 

“WORSHIP ME!"

Although I don’t have a body in this space, I grab the cross around my neck. I can still feel the cool metal against my skin back somewhere in reality. 

“I worship Christ!”

The sound of static thrums like the clicking of an MRI machine, deafening me.

“You worship me, you have lived your life fearing ME.”

Pixels coalesce together before me, long strings of blinking lights wrapping together to make a towering form. Twinkling tentacles slam against the confines of pure space. 

“You may have masked me as God, buried me along with your desires, chained me with your need to suffer, but I PERSIST!” 

I take a step back, the white room transitioning again to the sandy beach, Honey still dancing alongside the flames. The being towers above the beach, its body emerging from the ocean to glare down at me.

“I see you, Apple, at the very core of your being - I know you.”

I reach out to grab for Honey’s hand, my shapeless form passing through her unfazed, but she stops dancing. 

The being's voice booms, “And I am coming to take what you love.”

Apple’s eyes shoot open, the steamy room around her slamming into focus. Sweat pours down Apple’s face, her rosary and cross lay in tatters on her lap along with her gloves. She yanks the music buds from her ears, throwing them into the steaming stones as she stands. Her legs sway as she makes her way from the longhouse. The night sky is alive with shooting stars overhead. 

#

Apple’s tennis shoes sink into the sand as she runs, her breath escaping in humid puffs as she darts from pyre to pyre searching for Honey. Finally, she sees the glint of fire shining on Honey’s face in the distance. Honey’s body moves with the music, her sports bra fitting tight to her flexing muscles and movement. Mr. Vanilla dances beside her. Apple fists her hands, running full speed and shoulder bumping the blond man away from Honey.

“What the hell!” He sputters out. 

“Hell is coming!” Apple shrieks, glaring at him and grabbing Honey’s elbow. 

Mr. Vanilla stares wide-eyed before running off. 

Honey looks at Apple, stunned, “What’s gotten into you? Are you okay?”

Honey blinks, looking Apple over as she does so. Apple grabs Honey’s bare shoulders, trying to lead her away from the beach but Honey stands firm in the sand. 

“What’s up?”

“The end is coming… We have to leave, now!”

Honey scowls, reaching up a hand to cup Apple’s face, “Are you okay? Your eyes are wild dilated.”

Apple places her ungloved hand over Honey’s, fingertips tracing over the smooth muscles of Honey’s skin.

“If the world is going to end - I want to be with you, Honey.” 

` Honey’s gapped smile spreads across her sweaty face, “All you ever had to do was ask,   Crumble Pie.”

Apple looks away for a moment, noting that the crowd has stopped dancing around them. The crowd on the beach stares up at the towering lighthouse, its pale paint turning almost luminescent under the moon’s rays. Flash. Flash. Flash. The beacon of guidance inside is spinning in circles now, creating a halo among the loose density of clouds. Apple moves her free hand over her eyes, peeking out from between fingertips as the light intensifies. Those around her while silhouettes before are now swaying shadows. She turns her gaze to Honey, gripping her hand tight when she notices Honey’s eyes have turned white. Spinning away from the direction of the lighthouse, Apple cups Honey’s face, trying to draw her eyes to her own. Honey’s tongue writhes behind her teeth, whispering, and Apple realizes everyone around her is beginning to mutter and cry.

 The sound of their formless words mixes with the crashing waves, giving additional chorus to the now screaming metal of the lighthouse beacon. Within moments, the sound reaches a bone spitting fever pitch, and all those standing around Apple are now screaming with hands stretched to the sky. Apple turns in time to see the lighthouse explode, bricks flying freely into the crowd and striking down those too entranced to duck. Above Apple, the full pale Moon begins to crumble in on itself, before with nuclear precision it explodes sending down a ray of fire that pierces through the halo of clouds and strikes the ruined foundation of the lighthouse. 

            Flash. Flash. Flash. With a burst of air, Apple is thrown to the ground. Spinning onto her side she watches smoke billow out from the spire of fire, the scent of acrid flesh and battery acid filling the air. Apple screams as the sky overhead ripples like glass before the moment of shattering, cracks forming like vines that stretch out from the snare of fire still penetrating the earth. 

Apple’s green eyes reflect the pulsing hellfire, “God have mercy on our souls…”

The sound of tearing fabric fills the air, threads popping as human vocal cords screech skyward. Apple watches, eyes wide and fingers splayed in the wet grass beneath her as the forms of the party-goers begin to melt. Their clothes burn away in a flash of blue flames that crackles the sand to glass under their feet. And as their exposed skin returns to shadow it warps into boiling pustules and brittle sharp angles. 

"What's going on, Apple?"

Honey’s words draw Apple’s attention away from the sky. 

Apple grabs Honey's hand, pulling them both upright as the wind picks up around them. The scent of seawater mixing with sickness fills Apple's nose as she retches onto the grass under-toe. 

In between mouthfuls of bile, Apple cries out, “We. Need to. Run!”

#

            Moist foliage thwacks against Apple’s face, slashing lines of crimson into her skin as she runs without the luxury of dodging branches. The sound of crashing waves gives her direction to the docks, the burning sky plunging all other details of the path into obscurity. Honey follows behind, her fingers still locked in an embrace with Apple’s. With the dock coming in sight, Apple and Honey let out a breath.

“We can get out of here,” Honey mutters.

Honey takes the lead now, bringing them to a small rowboat. Apple jumps in, preparing the oars as Honey pushes them waist-deep into the water and kicks them from the dock to bob in the rocky waves. There is a pause before Honey pulls herself into the boat. As they row in the opposite direction of the tower of flames, mist surrounds them, like the foam of tomato soup churned by Satan. The water beneath their vessel first becomes as still as a black mirror before erupting into a massive length of tentacles, knotting and pulsing in the shape of chaos. Apple’s eyes struggle to understand it, but as the creature’s slit face turns to gawk down on her there is the simple description of… Madness incarnate 

Apple’s mind splits and folds in, identity blossoming as every moment of existing shocks her cells - my cells. No. No. No. This isn’t happening, this isn’t real. Visions snap in and out of focus, long-forgotten runes and stories and genocide foretelling assimilation. Apple… I - I can’t help but scream as I feel the very factors of my character warp and shift from my reality. I feel the swell of Honey’s emotions as my own, amplifying the terror and confusion multiplying in our cells. I am Apple, the rotting husk, the seed, the tree, the fruit of sin. I am nectar so sweet, singing with life and promised growth. I am madness. I am terrified of what is to come next. 

Turning to Honey, I embrace her, wrapping my arms tight and soaking in every sweet detail. The ripple of her muscles, the beat of her frightened heart, her breath hot and moist on my neck. Flesh in flesh. Bone melding to bone. Our fingers intertwine, now merging into one. Honey stares into my eyes, I struggle to keep the searing fear from showing on my face as I bring my mouth to her forehead. The feel of her lips sears my cheek, but it feels like life.

         "I love you, Honey."

  My words lose traction along my tongue, taking on the language of time itself to join the sound of roaring waves, the air alive with all manner of the primordial choir. The wrath of the creature bares down over us, saltwater stinging our wounded hearts. Our experience of existence shifting into pixels and dust.

        "It's gonna be okay, Crumble Pie."