The Girl in the Hole
a fairy tale
The ivy creeps through the window to get a closer look at me. Each time it intrudes on my territory I rip the stems apart, scattering the leaves on the stone floor and lighting them on fire, hoping the flames will grow tall and engulf my quiet alcove. But the damp stone never provides the fire any purchase and it lives for only a moment before sputtering out.
I tried to light my hair on fire once, hoping it might embrace destruction, but whatever magical spell mother wound within the fibers still prevents me from harming them. Their fate is to grow and grow, while mine is to be pushed aside in favor of their expansion.
I want to curse Mother for the spell, but I’m too worried to do so. How long has it been? Time becomes unreliable when one’s mind is unclear. I could have counted the risings of the sun, but I closed my eyes instead. I try not to take note of the way her smell has disappeared or how the weather has changed since her last visit. The frost no longer gathers on the sill.
It was always a matter of time until the plague reached her. She promised me she was too small for it to find and too strong for it to overcome. She used to describe the way people’s faces turned gray, how the blood dripped down from the corners of their eyes and their hands twisted into claws, tearing at their own throats.
