We All Rot Eventually: A Horror Novella

by Mia Ballard

Who I was before doesn’t matter. Maybe she’s still out there, some shadow of me walking barefoot in the fields I left behind, a girl with skinned knees and a bad temper, kicking sand in her crush’s eyes in the first-grade because she wanted to see what rage looked like on someone else. Or maybe she died the night I told the devil what I wanted, her body sinking into the floorboards, her hands still clenched into fists.

now it’s just me, alone on the bus at 10 p.m., on my way to Lars’ show, dressed like bait, because my roommate is pegging some guy

if I hadn’t cried just right for the camera, if people hadn’t decided my grief was a commodity worth investing in.

I can already tell he’s spent all day rehearsing how to make this look effortless and it takes everything in me not to scream you’re a fucking nerd at maximum volume.

It opens its mouth, and the rows of teeth shift, grinding together, and I know, without it speaking, that it’s smiling. “I love you Alexa.” It speaks, low and guttural. Layered. “I love you too.” My heart swells. this is what real love feels like. This is my person.

We all rot eventually. We all fall apart. Why should I feel bad about trading blood for glory?