Apex Magazine Issue 22 by Jessica P. Wick Mike Allen Kat Howard Darin Bradley

Author:Jessica P. Wick, Mike Allen, Kat Howard, Darin Bradley
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Apex Publications
Published: 2011-03-07T14:34:25.966000+00:00

Dissolve.

Fade in. We are in London with Lily, far enough away from her mother that she could dissolve entirely. Lily had heard that there was something happening in London, something that could shut down the banging slamming violence in her skull even better than the noise at CBs, some kind of annihilation.

There was.

Look at Lily at the Roxy, if you can recognize her. Can you find her? She is in the bathroom, shooting herself up with heroin and water from the toilet. She is out front sitting by the stage, sitting on the stage, sitting at the bar, throwing herself against the wall so violently that she breaks her own nose. The rats are still following her, snapping and snarling at anybody who comes near, and when nobody comes near, they turn on themselves, begin to eat themselves, gnaw on their own soft bellies.

Can you recognize Lily? When her face and form began to dissolve in the mirror, she panicked and knew she had to take some drastic action before she blinked and found only a mass of rats where her reflection should be, a feeding frenzy. In London the colors were bright like the sun when you have a hangover, so bright it hurt to look at them. The clothing was made to be noticed, to cause people to shrink back and flinch away. Lily wanted to look like that. She bleached her hair from chestnut brown to white blonde and left dark roots showing. She back-combed it so a frizzy mess stood out around her head like a halo: Saint Lily, Our Lady of the Rats. She drew large black circles around both eyes, coloring them in carefully. She outlined her lips even more carefully, and the shine on them was blinding. Her black clothing was covered in bright chrome like a 1950s car.

She was visible then. She could see herself when she looked in the mirror, bright and blonde, outlined in black. Covered in rats.

Her mother thought she looked like a corpse.

Everyone can see her now, everyone who matters, anyway. She is out and about and she is sleeping with the young man playing bass, well, posing with the bass, on stage. He is wearing tight black jeans, no shirt, and a gold lamé jacket. He is a year older than her. Neither of them is out of their teens. They are children. Despite everything, their skin looks new and shiny.

She had been frightened of him the first time they met. Now she was visible but that came with a certain price, as well. Usually, the rats kept everyone at arm’s length, if that close, so no matter how desperately she threw herself at people, they shied away. They knew enough to be frightened by the rats, even if they couldn’t see them, even if they didn’t know they were there. They told themselves, told each other, that they avoided her because she was nasty, the most horrible person in the world, a liar, a selfish bitch, and she was, she knew she was, but, really, they were afraid of the rats.

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