{"id":2780,"date":"2022-11-29T19:14:53","date_gmt":"2022-11-29T23:14:53","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/?page_id=2780"},"modified":"2022-11-29T19:28:06","modified_gmt":"2022-11-29T23:28:06","slug":"inside","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/fiction-archive\/inside\/","title":{"rendered":"Inside"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"Collage

Oak Visions by GJ Gillespie<\/p><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

Inside<\/h1>\n

Cameron L. Mitchell<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0With their bodies intertwined, beads of sweat drip down her face and sting her eyes, blurring the world beyond as she reaches out, desperate to catch a hold of something.\u00a0 The full weight of his body presses down, hard enough to crush her.\u00a0 When he pulls back, she can breathe again, but then he pushes against her, harder and harder.\u00a0 One second she\u2019s suffocating, the next she\u2019s gulping down the rush of air, exhilarated by the fact that it can be taken away, so easily.\u00a0 Drowning beneath the waves, she cries out: <\/span>more, more, more<\/span><\/i>.\u00a0 She can never get enough, she\u2019s reborn with every thrust, she\u2019s alive like she\u2019s never been.\u00a0 Lips on her lips, lips moving down, teeth grazing the bare, delicate skin of her neck \u2013 her mouth opens in response, her teeth sink into that pulsing muscle across his shoulder, biting down as she wraps her arms around his back, pulling him closer, and closer still, afraid she can never get close enough.\u00a0 She digs with both hands, kneading his back with fingers in search of the most tender spot.\u00a0 His soft, damp skin is more malleable in her grasp than it\u2019s ever been.\u00a0 The initial puncture surprises her, but she pushes further, feeling the warm wetness soak her fingertips.\u00a0 He flinches and starts to withdraw, but she pulls him closer, and so he keeps going, deeper, and deeper, and she knows he won\u2019t stop now.\u00a0 She\u2019s won, the game is all but over.\u00a0 She digs even deeper, discovering the flesh in her hands is like dirt she can open and shift aside; she hollows out a space to leave her mark \u2013 <\/span>mine<\/span><\/i>.\u00a0 Better than dirt, it\u2019s so warm and wet and ready to nurture the seed she\u2019ll drop inside.\u00a0 Wild and unrelenting, she tears into him \u2013 she rips his back open, pulling it apart until the skin removed hangs down like wings on both sides.\u00a0 She\u2019s revealed him at his best, an angel who can fly once she\u2019s done.\u00a0 She keeps digging, he keeps pushing, and soon they\u2019re covered by the blood that gushes out, drenching them in its warmth.\u00a0 She sees the red river rising, she feels the current taking them away, yet she can\u2019t stop digging, he can\u2019t stop pushing.\u00a0 No matter how small, they must close any gap left between them.\u00a0 Her hand works its way through meat and bone until it finds what it\u2019s been seeking all along: his heart alive in her fingers, thumping against her palm.\u00a0 She squeezes just a little at first \u2013 she squeezes as hard as she can, expending what\u2019s left of her strength, and the warm wet pulp still alive in her hand takes her to a place she\u2019s never been.\u00a0 It is peace, it is peace at last.\u00a0 Gasping, her entire body shudders beneath what is left of his.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0She wakes drenched in sweat, not blood, exhausted and out of breath.\u00a0 He wakes beside her, the first to speak.\u00a0 <\/span>That dream again?<\/span><\/i>\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0That dream again,<\/span><\/i> she whispers softly, staring up at the ceiling.\u00a0 Before he turns away, she catches a glimpse of his alien blue face.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Trying to hold on to the last tremors of pleasure pulsating from a dream that\u2019s already fading away, she heaves a long sigh.\u00a0 Here in the sticky heat of yet another hot summer night, she knows she can never get inside, not in the way she craves.\u00a0 Disappointed by the limits imposed on two bodies lying together in the dark, she gazes at his skin, daring to run a finger slowly across his back, her touch so light and hesitant he probably doesn\u2019t feel it at all.\u00a0 In the morning, everything will change, but right now, inside this lonely moment, she understands just how dangerous love can be.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Cameron L. Mitchell<\/b> is a queer writer who grew up in the mountains of North Carolina. His first novella is forthcoming from Running Wild Press; his shorter work has appeared in <\/span>Vol. 1 Brooklyn<\/span><\/i>, <\/span>The Queer South Anthology<\/span><\/i>, <\/span>Litro Magazine<\/span><\/i>, <\/span>Literary Orphans<\/span><\/i>, <\/span>Gravel Literary Magazine<\/span><\/i>, and a few other places. He lives in New York and works in archives at Columbia University. Find him on Twitter: @CamLMitchell<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u200b\u200bGJ Gillespie<\/b> is a collage artist living in a 1928 Tudor Revival farmhouse overlooking Oak Harbor on Whidbey Island (north of Seattle). In addition to natural beauty, he is inspired by art history — especially mid century abstract expressionism. The \u201cNorthwest Mystics\u201d who produced haunting images from this region 60 years ago are favorites. Winner of 19 awards, his art has appeared in 56 shows and numerous publications. When he is not making art, he runs his sketchbook company Leda Art Supply.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

  Inside Cameron L. Mitchell   \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0With their bodies intertwined, beads of sweat drip down her face and sting her eyes, blurring the world beyond as she reaches Continue Reading →<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4323,"featured_media":0,"parent":1301,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/2780"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4323"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2780"}],"version-history":[{"count":12,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/2780\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3199,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/2780\/revisions\/3199"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1301"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2780"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}