“The Feast of the February Flies”
by
Gene Stewart
It was the third time her mother went in to have her skin cancer checked. The first two times it had been no big deal, band-aid stuff. This time, though, they told her it had spread. This time they told her she didn’t have very long.
Diana’s fists clenched when she heard. She screamed at the first friend who offered sympathy. –Keep your pity and sympathy, you leach. Leave me alone.
Her fear kept her away from her mother, too. Gazing into her mother’s cheerful face infuriated Diana, who wanted to slap her and say, –Don’t you realize you’re dying?
–We all are, aren’t we? Her mother would probably say, and that would make it worse. Truth was, no one knew when they’d die, and maybe terminally ill people had an advantage. Impending death focuses the mind, philosophers said. Maybe they were right. Maybe it forced people to think clearly.
Diana didn’t want to think, though, which is why she was at the rave swallowing ecstasy, semen, and her pride in one big gulp. The boys lining up for free blowjobs in the third stall from the door in the Men’s Room didn’t care about Diana or her mother. The bouncers guarding the door after getting their freebies didn’t care. She told herself she didn’t care, either, and kept her lips and tongue busy.
She choked a few times on unexpected spurts, gagged a few times at ripe smells and bitter tastes, and felt wonderfully humiliated and negated by the end of a couple hours. The back of her throat felt bruised and sore, her jaw felt sprung, and her slut level was at an all-time high.
–She’s had enough, look at her, bitch can’t even focus her eyes. Reminds me of that one at Spring Break, you remem–
–Maybe she’s up for a party now that she’s loosened up.
She heard this and got to her feet but a big hand pushed her down onto the toilet seat again. She looked up and said, –Fuck off.
–Sure, babe. First, though, you’re gonna fuck me and my buddies. Whatcha say? You horny for it after feasting on all that cum?
–Feasting? a buddy laughed. Man, you’re so high.
–We got a van outside, another one said, his face slack with lust. His pimples glowed like lava.
Diana heard herself say, –Sure, all three at once. Lets get this over with so I can dance before the night’s over.
They escorted her from the bathroom. As she stepped into the crashing noise of the rave, bodies milling, conversational snippets flying like shrapnel as she was hustled through the crowds, Diana stumbled. She was tired. Exhausted, really. And she was numb.
This came in handy when, a few minutes later, she found herself stripped and laying in the back of a van, a cock in her mouth, another in her pussy, and another trying to jam itself up her ass. She wiggled and moaned for them and let all three fuck her cunt, then got them off with some hand and lip action and, finally, said, –Where’s my clothes?
They laughed and zipped up and tossed her the dress she’d worn. Her underwear was gone, no doubt copped by one of the bastards for later sniffing and wanking.
That people behaved this way towards each other did not surprise her. If their Creator could give them afflictions like cancer, why expect anything less than callous cruelty from mere mortals?
The crass atmosphere in the van and at the rave suddenly repulsed her. She wasn’t sure what appealed to her just then but certainly not more of the same.
As she staggered from the van, her thighs sprung and bruised, she thought, –Jesus, what have I done to myself?
Thoughts of sexually transmitted diseases flitted across her numb mind like bats in moonlight. A CD player in a car with the windows cracked to let out the pot smoke played “Shake Your Money Maker” as she passed it. The car was shaking, too.
She wondered if she should at least have charged five bucks each. At least then she’d have more to show for the night than a sick stomach and a hurt body.
As she dragged into the house her mother’s voice echoed down the staircase. –Where have you been? It’s a school night.
–Yeah, Mom. I know. I’m sorry. Was out with Melissa and Betty. I’ll go straight to bed now, ‘kay?
–You okay, honey? You sound exhausted.
–Yeah, I’m fine.
Diana went to the kitchen and got herself some cold cereal and milk for a very late supper. She wondered how much longer her mother would be alive, and then wondered if she could maybe die before her Mom did.
That made her feel somewhat better as she drifted off to sleep, imagining not having to be here without her mother.
Next morning she didn’t hear the alarm clock and woke up late. If she hurried she might make her second class. Her throat hurt and her head ached. She got up, peed, then threw up in the sink. She didn’t look too closely at what came up but it didn’t wash down the sink easily and she had to use her fingers to clump it and toss it into the toilet.
Undigested cereal, she figured.
That was about when she realized that her mother had not awakened her. Usually when she didn’t hear the alarm her mother did, and came in gently to shake her awake.
Diana, alarmed, went to her mother’s room.
–Mom? You awake?
She pushed the door open and poked her head into the room. An acrid scent of methane made her wrinkle her nose. She opened the door widely and entered.
Her mother lay flat on her back with her head cocked toward the wall. She was breathing in harsh gasps through her open mouth.
–Mom? You okay?
–Mm?
Diana let herself ease back from panic as her mother’s eyes fluttered open. –Oh, Diana, what’s the matter, honey?
–I don’t feel good, Mom. I’m going to skip school today I think.
Still not moving, her mother gave a weak smile. –You want me to call the school?
–No, Mom. That’s okay. I’ll take care of it.
Diana left the room and went downstairs, where she started some coffee and called the school to say that Diana Wilson would not be in today due to a flu. The nurse had no idea she was not speaking to Diana’s mother and said Fine.
Diana watched the coffee drip for a bit, then noticed she hadn’t gotten dressed yet. She ran upstairs and got into her jeans and a sweater.
As her head came out from inside the sweater an idea came to her: Murder – suicide.
She could kill her mother, then herself.
That would take care of things neatly. Neither would have pain. Neither would have to pretend to like sex. Neither would have to suck up to men for handouts anymore.
She wished her fucking father hadn’t divorced them for that bimbo. If he were still around maybe it’d be different.
Maybe not, though. He thinks with his dick like any other male, so what would change? She realized, her heart lurching, that she was daydreaming again. Just like a stupid girl, she thought, hating herself all the more for such weak-mindedness.
What was needed was hardheaded realism.
She could giver her mother soup for an early lunch, soup with a lot of pills in it. Kill her that way, then drink some herself, lay down beside her mother, and just drift off.
That sounded so good. A long trip into oblivion was just what she needed.
–Diana, can you give me a hand?
Diana jumped at the mention of her name. She went to her mother’s room and found pills scattered on the floor.
Her mother looked sheepish as she sat on the edge of the bed. –I’m sorry, dropped the bottle and they just went everywhere.
–They sure did. You okay, Mom?
–Got dizzy when I tried to pick them up, that’s all.
–I’ll get ‘em, don’t worry. Diana dropped to her knees, a position she was getting way too familiar with, and gathered pills. They were the weird speckled blue ones; weren’t they powerful? What were they doing up here, anyway? Weren’t all the meds in the cabinet above the kitchen counter?
–I’m sorry, honey. I should never have–
Diana realized then what her mother thought she had discovered; that her mother had maybe tried, maybe just considered, suicide by overdose.
–Mom, when did you do this?
Her mother hung her head, tears flowing like a trickle of embalming fluid from a leaky corpse. –Last night, Diana. While you were out with your friends.
–Mom, I was at a rave.
Her mother looked puzzled. –Dance, right?
Diana sighed. –Yeah, Mom. It’s a kind of dance. Here, lets get you dressed and we’ll go downstairs and set you up on the couch, okay? It’s almost time for THE PRICE IS RIGHT.
–Okay. I’m sorry I’m so weak.
–It’s not your fault, Mom.
–Still. I can’t help thinking about things now, and I remembered when I was a little girl. I was playing up in the attic at my grandparents’ house. It was winter, too cold to play outside, way too much snow. I was looking out the window at the drifts, thinking how pretty they were, when my grandfather came up behind me and asked if I saw that fly.
–It’s a February Fly, Angel, he told me. Most flies only live three days, did you know that? And most live in summer, when they can find something to eat. But this guy here? He’s a February Fly. Know what that means?
–When I told him no, I didn’t understand what it meant, he smiled and got a funny look on his face and looked past me, through the window, to the snow. Means they feast on what ever dies in winter, if they’re lucky.
–I never asked him what if they were unlucky, but now I think maybe I know.
Diana just stood there. She was stunned in some way she didn’t understand, as if her body got the story while her mind was still sorting out the images, vocal tones, and word choices.
–You’re a good girl, her mother said, as she was helped by her only child down the stairs to the couch, where she got situated under the quilt her own grandmother had made for her by hand out of scraps of clothes worn out by other family members who’d helped work the farm they’d once owned.
Diana thought, No, Mom, I’m a very bad girl, but that didn’t feel right. She said, –I’ll get you some soup, okay?
As she heated it her brain caught up with her body in understanding the story and she figured maybe she was just another February Fly, like everyone else. Would she be one of the lucky ones who got to feast? Or would she end up a dry husk on the windowsill, unable to reach the outside world?
Life’s short no matter what, so it was her choice. She could find a way to cope and now she knew it. It was a comfort knowing the pills were there, would always be there.
–You going out today? her mother asked.
Diana shook her head, thinking, Not today, although there is always tomorrow. –Got too much homework. And for once she actually meant it. All the sudden she wanted to learn as much as she could so maybe the world wouldn’t push her around so much.
She promised herself she’d take care of her mother as long as it took, no matter what, and when that was done she’d take care of herself, one way or another, maybe find a way to get beyond the glass. To fly free and find a better feast of her own if she could, or to free herself of the feast’s burden if not.
Just then, though, she took soup in to her mother and had some herself, and she left the pills out.
/// /// ///
supposedly appeared in PARAPHILIA in December 2012; unconfirmed
