Heap Earth Upon It

Prologue

OFTEN I WAKE TO THE sort of scream that permeates soil and rattles the coffins and fossils it passes by.

The sort that even the birds and insects understand as pained.

A sound so intense it has a texture and a weight.

When that screaming comes to me, I wrap myself around it and cling on.

There’s something soothing about it; it’s like having you around.

There’s something about all of this that is easier to sink into than to break free from. The deadweight of grief. The small bliss of my stagnancy. Habits I cannot sense the evil in.

And yet, it hurts to think about you. About what happened. So I leave it in my blind spot and try to move on, and pull what comfort I can from your constant screaming.