Author’s Note: All right, normally I’d be a bit hesitant to write a story using a song from this band but after listening to it nonstop for a few hours I really couldn’t help myself. It’s just that damn amazing. I toyed with the idea for a while and I at first wanted to do a wrestling fic with it (and dedicate it to someone) ... but I guess she’d appreciate this, too, since she’s a fan of the game. So here you have it.
Spoilers ahoy. Read at your own risk.
Disclaimer: I didn’t create this game or any of the characters. I don’t work for Konami, I’m a silly fan so don’t sue me. Song title and lyrics are property of Slipknot.
Dedication: For Kayla love

She seems dressed in all the rings of past fatalities. So fragile, yet so devious.

“Do I look like your girlfriend?” She was enticing, playful. Designed to tease. But also… cruel, malicious, and wicked at the same time. She was laughing at him under that smile, under that stare; he could hear it, just like he could hear Mary in her voice.

“Look! I’m disgusting! I don’t deserve flowers.” Oh how vicious and spiteful she’d become, so full of malice those beautiful sapphires fading fast, fading under the mop of hair and sunken skin but still so weak and frail, her skin as easy to peel as layers of dead flesh that blisters and bubbles. James could break her like a twig, crush her to a pulp in his fist, under his fingers.

She continues to see. Climatic hands that press her temples and my chest.

“‘Anyway’?! What do you mean ‘anyway’?! You don’t sound very happy to see me.” Malevolent again, spearing him with such ire. Her mouth twisted itself, how unkind, how hideous, oh she should never be made to look like that. You don’t look like yourself when you’re angry.

So… so hard to be happy with a figment, Maria. So, so hard to be happy with a delusion. They fade, they trick, they tease and they fool. How long before you leave again, Maria? How long? How long? Is Maria sick, too?

“Don’t ever leave me alone! You’re supposed to take care of me!” Sobbing, those tears sliding down weary cheeks, clumping together thin ebony lashes, each like a droplet of venom on his skin searing and paralyzing. The sound of it the sound of her was too much for him. Stop crying, Mary. Stop crying, Maria. No more pain, no more hurt. You’ll see. Shhh, hush, no more no more.

Sleeping. Docile. The only time she was silent, the only time he had peace. Her eyes were shut, her mouth was closed, her tongue was still. No more verbal lashings or degradation. No more pain, Mary. No more hurt. You wanted it this way. You’ll see.

Don’t struggle don’t fight it, just give in give in, it’s what you wanted, what you asked for, what you needed, what you told me to do. Can’t go back on it now, don’t fight it Mary. Don’t fight. They can’t help you, they can’t take care of you. I won’t treat you like they did. Close your eyes go to sleep.

The moisture leaked through his shirt and pierced his skin. He could feel her tears as she fell against him, feebly clinging to him. Her façade pressed against his heart, the steady rhythm shuddered and lurched erratically. Fingers twined around her hair, held her there held her close. Won’t let you go.

Lift you up and take you away, unravel you from the sheets and this mortal coil. We’re leaving now, Mary. Say goodbye. Take you back to where you belong, where you wanted to be all this time: that resort town in the hills. Weightless, so fragile and thin, skin sagging and bones hollow. A husk of a woman. Her body folded in his arms, head to his chest, pushing up against his pulse that never wavered, didn’t hesitate.

Enter the night that she came home forever.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing more we can do. Mr. Sunderland, I must be honest with you: I think it’s best if you began to make the proper… arrangements for your wife.”
“Mary’s going to die…? You… you must be joking!”
“I’m very sorry.”

“We think it best if she returned home for a few days. Please… enjoy what time you have left with her. She would want it that way.”

The doctor came today. He told me I could go home for a short stay. It’s not that I’m getting better, it’s just that… this may be my last chance…
I think you know what I mean.
Even so, I’m glad to be coming home. I’ve missed you terribly."

“That wasn’t Mary. Mary’s gone. That was something I… Maria? Maria.”
“What, James?”
“I want you… I want you with me.”
“Are you sure?” Are you sure? ?

Oh, she’s the only one that makes me sad.

“Flowers? I don’t want any damn flowers.”
“Well, what are you looking at?! GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE. Leave me alonealready!”
“ARE YOU STILL HERE?! I told you to go. Are you deaf?!”
“Don’t come back!”

Wicked wicked, vicious spiteful cruel. You don’t look like yourself at all, Mary. So bitter. You don’t look like yourself, Mary. You don’t look like Mary… Mary…

“When will you ever stop making that mistake?! Mary’s dead. You killed her.”

“But I can be yours. I’ll be here for you forever. And I’ll never yell at you or make you feel bad. That’s what you wanted. I’m different than Mary. How can you throw me away!?”

She is everything and more. The solemn hypnotic--My Dahlia bathed in possession.
She is home to me.

“I don’t look like a, uh, ghost… do I?”
“Wait… Please don’t go… Stay with me.”
“You were gonna just leave me here?”

I’ll never leave you alone again. I’m sorry, Maria. Can you ever forgive me? I’ll never leave you alone, my darling. I’ll never… Impossibly perfect, striking features that haunt me still. How could you be real? How could you be mine? We’re home now, none of it matters anymore… you’re here with me now and that’s all I want. You fit right in, it’s almost like we never left, like I never went to that town and saw all those horrible things, did all those horrible things. It’s like I woke up and there you were, waiting for me with a smile, as if all of it was just a bad dream. Her clothes fit you to a T… whose clothes? I can’t remember anymore. What am I saying? Of course they’re yours, who else’s would they be? You took all the pictures down, turned them around, or shattered the frames with your hands, your delicate fingers tearing each photo to shreds. I didn’t mind, why should I mind? I have you now. We have all the time in the world for pictures, you said. We have forever. That’s all I’ll ever need.

I get nervous, perverse—when I see her, its worse.

But the stress is astounding.
It's now or never—she’s coming home forever.

What are you doing, James? My hands are frozen to the steering wheel. The rain beats the dashboard, trickling slowly down the glass. The hospital hulks in the shadows, its dozens of eyes lit up with fluorescence, eyelids fluttering with curtains, wisps of movement and life. I can’t get out of the car… what the hell is wrong with me? Just get out and go see her, go smile and talk to her, take her hand and kiss her lips and look into her eyes and tell her you love her, of course you love her.

She’s your wife.

You brought flowers for her, she should like that. She always liked flowers. Especially dahlias. You waited until her garden started to bloom, took special care of it because she couldn’t, and picked each blossom with care. Pink and white dahlias, lilacs and rhododendrons, pale calla lilies (pale like her throat like her dress like her skin like the sheets), carmine bleeding hearts and daffodils, bruise-colored pristine roses. I never was very good with flowers but I asked all around and made sure to take care of them just like you always did. It almost hurt to take them out but I had to, it was for you, Mary. It hurts to come see you but I have to. It’s for you, Mary. It’s you.

I found a copy of that book you were always reading, before the spine broke and the pages fell out and you cried. The doctors said to get rid of the original because of the disease, they didn’t know if it would be infected or not. You brought it with you on our trip to that town... I don’t know why you liked it so much, I never could get into his work. I bought it just for you and wrapped it up because I wanted it to be a surprise. I wanted to read it to you each time I visited: The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne. It was your birthday and I didn’t know what else to do, I couldn’t just ignore it. It was perfect.

“M-Mary?” You were sleeping. I hated to wake you up, you were only happy when you were asleep. I couldn’t bear to disturb you, you always looked so angry whenever I did. What did you dream about Mary cuz I dreamed of you that’s why I can’t sleep anymore. It’s too much.

When you woke up you didn’t say anything, just opened your eyes and stared at me. It was upsetting, you never used to do that. Stop it, Mary.

“Happy Birthday, honey.” I tried to smile, I did smile and I came in the room and held out the gift to you and sat down next to you and leaned in to kiss your face (bloated and ugly and hateful, Jesus what the hell happened) and you just sat there and watched. Finally your fingers, like claws, wrapped around the gift, the paper crinkling. You set it down on your lap and slowly began to remove it, so mechanic God it’s like you weren’t real. What the hell are they doing to you here, Mary? It has to be the drugs you’re not even alive anymore.

“I-if you want I could read it for you... I know how you can’t focus these days, but I thought that… maybe… if you want—” Maybe my voice would keep you centered.

“You thought what, James?!” Oh no not this. Please don’t be angry at me, Mary, I was only thinking of you. “Do you think I like it here? Do you think I like being this way? Do you think I want to sit around and listen to you stutter?”

“B-but, Mary.. I-I was only—”

“B-but, Mary... I-I was only—Shut up, James.” You threw the book back in my face, it missed but the corner of it slammed into my throat. I couldn’t breathe. You pointed a hooked, bony finger at the door, at my face, at the door, your mouth distorted your face so hideous GOD if I could just shut you up you fucking bitch—“Just GET OUT. GET. OUT. I don’t want even want to look at your pathetic face.”

You said you wanted to stop hurting. You couldn’t stand it anymore. You wanted them to kill you, said that they were only keeping you alive for the tests and the research, and honey I couldn’t stand the thought of that. How could they use you how could they drain the life out of you when I couldn’t get to see you smile, hear you laugh, feel your kiss, touch your skin, hold you close? How could they do that to us, Mary? I didn’t want it to come to this, I’m so sorry it had to be this way, my love, but you see it’s the only way. The only way. I can’t let them control you any longer. I have to do this now. I have to.

Oh, she’s the only one who makes me sad.
She makes me come alive she makes me come alive come alive She makes me come alive COME ALIVE.

“All you care about is that DEAD wife of yours. You couldn’t care less about me, could you?”

I loved you because I had to—no because you loved me and I loved you and we were man and wife and that’s what they do. You’re starting to change, Maria. Your face… your voice… your skin is glowing, a pale and dull luster like a light shining through wax paper. Your skin is yellow and stretched tight, your voice cracks and falters. Why are there bruises, honey, what happened to you why are you bleeding? I wake up and there are clumps of hair on the pillow, in my hands, small shreds of skin on the floor in the sink on her clothes—your clothes. You’re starting to pace and murmur to yourself, your eyes flicker and jump around; you can’t focus on things anymore. I hear you whisper but I don’t know what to make of it, you’re not talking to me anyway. You look so vacant so hollow, it makes me think of her. Of who? Who?

“Oh Maria… It’s you.” Of course it’s you. You’ve always been here. What’s going on? I can hear you talking again, I’m trying to sleep and you’re still up, walking pacing walking stumbling. You keep knocking into the table, bumping against bureaus and the walls. That’s why you’re so bruised. I try to stop you but you just yell at me again, and start to cry. I can’t stand to hear you that way, please don’t cry, Maria. Don’t be said, I wanted you here and here you are so why are you upset? What’s wrong? What’s wrong? What went wrong?

I can hear you talking and walking around, the thud of your body as it slams against things, the tinkle of glass as it shatters, your uneven and wary steps on the carpet, tracing circles in a mad dance. I get up to look at you, to see if you’re all right and I can’t believe it I won’t believe it. You’re in her pajamas, the same ones she wore when she came home—no, when you came home, I brought you home from the doctors and you were in those clothes because you liked them so much and anything else hurt you, but your hair, your hair you’re pulling it and its coming out in fistfuls, frayed strands grasped in your delicate hands. Oh, your bleeding, drops ooze out of your scalp and trickle down your face and in your eyes. You’re almost bald God it’s disgusting, Maria what happened to you? There are cuts all over your face and neck, the skin is peeled back and hanging in strands like tassels at your throat, just dangling there. I watch as you begin to drag your nails down it again, as the skin gives way and clumps under your fingers and rips off like dried glue. You’re making this horrible sound, a choking rasp a scream a cry but you’re still talking, your lips are still moving but your throat is making something awful, how can that be true? What’s wrong?

“Speak. I am the Crimson One. The lies and the mist are not they but I. You all know that I am One. Yes, and the One is I. Believers hearken to me! Twenty score men and seven thousand beasts. Heed my words and speaketh them to all, that they shall ever be obeyed even under the light of the proud and merciless sun. I shall bring down bitter vengeance upon thee and thou shalt suffer my eternal wrath. The beauty of the withering flower and the last struggles of the dying man, they are my blessings.

Hard to say what caught my attention. Fixed and crazy aphid attraction.
Carve my name in my face to recognise such a pheromone cult to terrorize.

I wake up and my hands are at my throat, choking me. The fingers are stiff and frozen, it takes all my strength just to move my hands down. I can’t hear you anymore but I don’t think to look for you, it’s good that you’re not making a sound or moving, but I’m afraid that you’re hurt. But I can’t get up and look for you, I’m too scared of what I might find. Maria. Mary. Maria. What went wrong? I wanted this but I didn’t want this so what’s going on? I’m pulling at my hair and oh Christ it’s coming out now, too, I can pull it out and I can feel the blood drip down my face and neck and my skin God what happened to me skin? It’s peeling and there are little sores all over. Am I sick too? Is Maria sick, too?

I’m going crazy and I’m starting to cry the tears burn they prick my eyes but I can’t let them out. Maria, are you all right? You’re all that’s left now. I have to find you, Maria. I have to take care of you, I can’t let them do this to you anymore. I can’t let this happen again, please not again. Maria. I need you.

You’re curled up on the floor where I left you, your hair is almost gone now, tiny scabs on your scalp where the blood dried and cracked crimson smears across your face. You must have been crying. I can hear you whimpering, you aren’t talking anymore and the skin of your throat is almost gone. Christ I can almost see your voice box Jesus, Maria, what did you do? It’s still gurgling and tiny bubbles of blood ooze out of your mouth, your lipstick faded and your lips are swollen, cracked. Your fingers pull at something in your mouth, at your teeth. They come out easily like someone removing dentures and I watch as your teeth unravel as you hold them out in front of you. Christ the little pearls and lilies (so white so pure so pale like death) fall on the carpet and your gums are raw pink, the color of an infection. I can’t speak but I can’t stop looking at you.
You smile. It’s hideous, blood seeps out of the stumps where your teeth used to be and you coo like an infant, drool sliding down your lips and chin, pooling in the lap of your pajama slacks. Your left hand sits at your side, the fingers useless and plump, and the bones of your knuckles stick through the flesh that’s left. The rest was scratched or bit off. I can’t tell. You’re falling apart before my eyes, Maria. What the hell happened to you?

What’s happening to me? My hair is gone, the blood dried, my skin is sagging and it itches, it fucking itches and I know I shouldn’t but I keep clawing at it, ripping at the sores until they burst and pus and blood spurts out and splatters across my skin. It hurts to cry so I don’t bother weeping about it anymore, it hurts no matter what so I keep scratching and hope that it’ll go away. A strip of skin rips off of my forearm and I hold it out before me and start to sob, I can’t help it. What’s going on? Why am I getting sick, too? Maria did this, it’s all her fault what the fuck did she do to me? My nails are sharp enough that I can write things on my skin, my skin is weak and malleable enough that the slightest pressure leaves a lasting scar. I can’t stand to see what I look like now in the mirror but it’s the only way I can get the message across. I keep whispering it aloud when I try to sleep and my fingers spell it out in the air and each time I close my eyes I can see the words as if they’re branded there. I have to get it out maybe that way I can rest.

I’m in the bathroom now and I press my finger to my face, hard enough for the indent to stay. The rest of the skin sags and a boil close to the mark quivers and grows thicker. I can’t work if that eyesore’s in the way so I rip the head off of it and the skin underneath is purple like a bruise, but the pus is still there, stuck in my pores. I can’t pay attention to that now I have to do this. Have to write out His name.

Red Devil.

I don’t even know what language it’s in… I’ve never heard of it before. It’s archaic and feral. I can hear it in my head and I’m saying it aloud, my teeth shudder with the force of my words and I can feel my tongue grow thick and heavy in my mouth. I won’t do it, I won’t become like Maria, sick and raving and babbling and mad, carving words in her face and ripping off her skin. I won’t do that, I can’t do that. What else is there? I close my eyes and I can see her… a girl, a little girl, kneeling on the floor and tracing a circle with a stick of charcoal. She’s so small and helpless, her expression pitiful and dark. A bruise blooms on her cheek and her lip is split, her tiny fist clumped around the writing piece as she digs it into the floorboard of the attic. Attic?

Yes, James. The attic. Mommy puts me here.

There’s a triangle in the center, two circles surround it, strange words connect the circles and there’s a swerve in the middle of the shape, but they form words it’s almost like a spell. But I don’t know what it means, of course I don’t. I don’t know who the girl is but she’s drawing it over and over again, she’s whispering to herself and choking back the tears, sniffing and wiping her free hand against her small nose but her eyes remain feverish and locked on the mark. The seal? What is this?

Protection, James. It protects us.

That’s all I ever wanted for Mary… I just wanted to take care of her, to protect her from the disease and the doctors that didn’t do shit, from the curious and disgusted stares of people who asked about her or learned about her condition and went to visit her, like she was a damn animal in a zoo. A circus attraction. That’s my wife, you bastards, she’s still a person and she knows what you’re saying about her. They’d whisper behind their hands and stare pointedly at me, or just shake their heads and pretend that I wasn’t there. It was just easier not to talk about it. I wanted to protect Mary from all of them and take the force of their stares and leers and laughter, their revulsion sinking into my skin and leaving hers untouched. I couldn’t protect Mary… I didn’t have a choice. There was no point to it, and why the hell should I put myself through that for a bitch that didn’t care, anyway? She treated me like garbage. But I have to do this for myself now… I have to take care of myself.

I want you to live for yourself now. Do what’s best for you, James.

Mary… I’m so sorry I brought her home with me. I just couldn’t stand being alone anymore. No one can take your place, Mary. I know that. I was stupid to think I could do it.

Heavy heavy heavy, so tired… My vision blurs and I can’t see anymore, a sharp crack jerks my head to the side as it strikes the sink and I fall to the floor, but that doesn’t mean much to me. I can’t feel it, I push my nails into my skin and mimic the little girl’s movements, writing the symbol, tracing the seal, carving the mark. I don’t think it’ll do any good, I don’t even know what it is but I don’t want to end up like Maria. If she’s even a person anymore. God I wonder what happened to her.

I won’t let this build up inside of me
I won’t let this build up inside of me
I won’t let this build up inside of me
I won’t let this build up inside of me

I can hear her screaming. I wake up and I hear her through the walls, yelling something terrible, horrible, awful. She’s not human anymore, is she? Was she to begin with? I can’t remember… Why did I let her stay with me? Why didn’t I notice?
She’s knocking on the door, her voice wispy and soft like a gentle kiss. “James, honey,” she’s saying. “Please let me in. Are you all right in there? Are you hurt?” The knob rattles. I stare at it from the floor, my head too heavy and thick with blood and water, the skin swollen like a poisonous bite, to move. I locked it. I’m not sure when, but I did, and I’m thankful. I didn’t want to see what she looked like now.

She’s banging harder this time and I imagine her fist cracking, breaking, the rifts getting deeper with each descent. I close my eyes and see hammers hitting nails, pick-axes striking stone. Thud thud thud. “James, open up.” Maria’s getting angry, confused. Why am I doing this? “What’s wrong with you? Just let me in. Let me in!”

The poison is too thick for me to speak, it made my tongue bulge up to some awful growth that I have to breathe around. I suck in air through my nose hungrily, trying to pant and work around the abscess but it’s no use. I press my teeth down, eyes closing over with a gloss of tears, and grind, grind. I can feel the muscle, so tender and sore, start to rip. I’m surprised how easy it breaks off and I spit it out onto the tiles. Drool and blood and something else, something like rust from a broken machine that’s been sent out as scrap, pool on the floor along with it. I think of the symbol on my face, the protection, and I wonder what else I’m going to purge.

Meanwhile Maria’s still knocking and calling for me. Her voice… how did I ever love it? How could I fall asleep to it, hear it in my dreams and ache for it when I awoke the morning after? How could I ever want to hear it over and over again? How could I have ever wanted you, Maria?

“James, don’t leave me alone. I’m scared. You’ve been in there for days. Please, please come out and let me see you.”
“James! Stop acting like a child and open this door.”

I wonder how you can speak, considering how your throat was in such bad shape the last I saw you. Did you get better? Did you find a way to fix this, Maria? Maria. I imagine you perfect and standing over me, smiling so beautifully it brings tears to my eyes. So gentle and fragile, you could shatter in a heartbeat. If you found a cure maybe I can fix Mary, too, and maybe I can get up off the bathroom floor and unlock the door and you won’t be there at all, Maria, it won’t be your peeling face and sunken eyes and toothless, bloody mouth, it’ll be Mary crying for me, begging for me to let her in.

But I know that won’t happen. I wanted you to be… you, Maria. Not her. I wanted something different, something more than what Mary had. You can never be her, Maria. You can never take her place or have her face. You don’t have much of a face now, anyway. I made you and I have to get you out of here, I have to destroy what I wanted. I have to kill my dream.

Oh, I'm a slave and I am a master. No restraints and unchecked collectors. I exist through my need to self-oblige. She is something in me that I despise.

I have to kill my creation, my wish and my dream. The only thing I ever wanted has turned against me. I let you bind me, Maria. Maria… is that even its name? How can you name something intangible, something that has no form or shape? It’s an emotion, this craving. It’s Maria. I can’t let you exist any longer. I have to end this.

It’s time to end this.

Maria… I’m standing somehow. Don’t ask me how, maybe it’s the seal, the need to purge and get rid of what’s poisoning me. I have to get rid of you, Maria. Please try to understand and don’t try to fight it. Mary didn’t fight much and neither should you.

Just scream. Do this one last thing for me and scream.

I’m standing and now I’m in front of the door. The knob isn’t rattling and you aren’t knocking anymore, but I can hear you feel you on the other side. You know what I’m going to do and you’re shocked, you’re stunned beyond words and you want to play dead. You can’t trick me anymore, Maria. I know that you’re there even if you don’t speak a word. I can feel you tug at my gut and groin, the back of my mind and at my heart. Wanting, wanting, wanting, needing. Such a child taking all you can get and never being satisfied. No more of this. I see you for the horror that you really are. I thought I couldn’t bear to look something so hideous in the face after visiting Mary but now I appreciate it—I’m glad to be able to see your true face, Maria. I’m glad I saw it once before I rip it off.

I don’t need a weapon for what I’m going to do. You’re weak enough I can use my hands if I wanted to and I know that you’re near death anyway, that you’re crippled from neglect and atrophying as the days pass. That’s what was happening to you, Maria. You were withering, choking and dying. That town… that place, its power and that One, that Crimson One, gave you life and charm and glamour and now that you’re out of there the magic is gone. It fed off of me because I was weak and vulnerable. I wanted to have it happen. And then I got you, got what I wanted… I didn’t make you. I was too pathetic to even do that, and now you’re falling apart before I even got the chance to enjoy you.

I can’t keep you in here any longer, I can’t keep these emotions and wants and needs that prick my skin and make my blood rush. Please understand what I have to do, Maria. I can’t have you around any longer, so do what I want you to do, what He made you to do, and let me have my way.

My hands are detached bone white bleached white gloves that stick out from twig arms and wrists. My veins are coils of blue that flicker like snakes. I watch them twitch as my fingers grip the knob, as the thumb slides the lock out of place. I hear you draw a breath as the door opens.

I won’t let this build up inside of me I won’t let this build up inside of me I won’t let this build up inside of me I won’t let this build up inside of me I won’t let this build up inside of me I won’t let this build up inside of me I won’t let this build up inside of me I won’t let this build up inside of me

Nothing. There’s… nothing there. I can hear you breathing and I can feel you hear with me, somewhere hiding somewhere with her clothes on, but I can’t see you. I’m frantic and crazed. I tear what’s left of our house apart looking for you. My face is stained with sweat, tears, blood—that’s right my tongue, I can’t speak anymore—and my skin starts to slide off the bones because of how wet everything is. It’s falling right off like soaked clay. But you’re still here, Maria, I can feel you here with me. You’ve always been with me, even when I thought you’d gone or died or that I was alone you were still there hiding beneath the surface, waiting to bloom. How many of you are there? How many strings in the viral chain? How many replicas? Can I ever get rid of you, this aching, disgusting, craving?

I try calling out to you but the words are strangled and raw. They aren’t any language I can understand. My chin is glowing red and my eyes are wide, wider than I thought could be possible, and my cheeks are sagging lower and lower. Soon they’ll drop onto the floor in heavy clumps. I’ll have to look out for them, making sure I don’t slip. You’re name surpasses words and labels, you’re nothing… but you’re pure, undiluted emotion. A sensation, an instinct—Maria. Where’d you go? How can I feel you so keenly if you’re nowhere to be found? It’s never been like this before. He made you real, he made you into what I wanted and now I have to get rid of it, I have to destroy my wish so I can wake up from this nightmare and try to put the pieces of myself that’s fallen off all around me back together. Maria just show yourself, I promise I won’t make it hurt. It’ll be quick and you won’t feel a thing—how can you feel a thing? You aren’t real.

She isn’t real. I can’t make her real.

It’s a nasty realization. It hits me hard, makes my knees sag and my eyes swell with water. They can’t handle anymore liquid and next thing I know I’m blind, everything’s fuzzy and smudged and then nothing at all—just blackness and shadow. I feel my eyes ooze down my face and roll away somewhere, out of reach and I can’t make the effort to find them and put them back in. What’s the use? There’s nothing left to see—you aren’t here. You aren’t real.

She isn’t real. I can’t make her real.

I’m melting, I know it sounds ridiculous but that’s exactly what this is. My skin is falling and sagging so heavily it’s just globs of gel that collect on the wooden floor in puddles. I feel myself slide away. I can’t speak anymore but I hear the words—I don’t know how I do, my ears are somewhere in the mess of me on the floor, but I can hear the words. I can feel them, like I felt you. Does that make them real? What is real, how do we know what’s real if something a man can see and touch and hear and taste and want isn’t? What’s real if that isn’t?

Maria… Mary. Did you even exist? Did I dream you both? I felt you but that doesn’t mean much. I thought Maria was real, I thought I wanted her. How could none of that be true?
Who are you, Maria? Mary? What are you?
It doesn’t matter anymore…
It doesn’t matter… who I am.
I’m here for you James.
See? Feel her hands, so cold and cruel and those nails like knives as they cup my face. Her smile like ice that freezes me but god the warmth that I feel in my stomach she must be—I’m real.

She isn’t real, I can’t make her real she isn’t real, I can’t make her real.