Bartholomew Miller, M.D.
 
Death librarian in a card catalog morgue, Bartholomew gathers soul stories. Humming his deviant alphabet song. Beautiful. Grotesque. They speak thoughts behind stilled lips, whispering elapsed past—permanent memory locked deep.
 
Cold fingertips, closed eyes--
      wait for the final scalpel cut—autopsy signature ‘y’.
 
Organs: a treasure trove of secret lives waiting silently for collection.
Thaumaturgy taints her pale skin and sharp edges, black leather lining a fragile clavicle. Tumbled in and out of darkness, a blood doll to slake the thirst of masquerade gone too far. Seeking life in death, everlasting youth fountain, now drained. A jagged tear marked jugular, stained claret, that should have been a pinprick lust.
Callouses gracing fingertips, permanently indented by soft metal strings. Vocal chords stripped bare, a sonorous cry filtered through f-hole and reverberating rib cage. Empty shrunken stomach below a heart swelled to bursting—prolonged fermata. Crumpled newspapers fill his pockets, past reviews praising a savant—now frozen homeless in an alley doorway. A self composed requiem.
Birthed undercover, sex misunderstood for gender. A transformation near complete, one last surgery on the horizon. One drink too many—a hand up her skirt. Shocked drunken rage and ignorant embarrassment. Fight me like a man. Lower lip swollen with the sting of a thousand bees. One nail broken, dragging an assailant’s DNA to damnation.
Unveiled princess, lips open soft. A promise to protect. Honeymoon zip line, suited up. Cruising altitude. Endorphins tickling at her spine, feet swinging childhood reminisce. Delight turned dark—frayed metal snap. Slipped deep in rocky crevice hands, jagged joke demise. Helmet crushed. Ineffectual shell, angled limbs broken. Only a coffin kiss to carry her home.
Bleach tray white, tabula rasa, straight soldiers with a chip on one shoulder—upper central incisor. A barrel cool in her mouth, lips soft against the metal of a last meal. Infinitesimal squeeze. Hair trigger. Against medical advice, a discharge—lithium coma lifted. Gloved invisible gunshot residue, exit wound temporal to parietal. Through and through.
Night time ride in an old blue Chevy, singing Free Fallin’ down a dirt road. Her kiss lingers on his lips. Colored lights flashing in darkness. Hands on the wheel--speak slow. Call me when you get home safe, she said and he laughed. Her voice echoed in his ears trapped with his death breath.
Pirouette princess trained for pain. Graceful aches tied in marionette strings. Body used and bruised beneath a swan lake tutu—a tool for entertainment. Mangled feet pick a perfect string of pearls amongst ethereal stagecraft. A vessel filling with unshed tears, ballerina of a jealous progenitor’s dream. Nestled in a noose, axis crack—contretemps heartbeat.
A bulb nestled deep in a chilled root cellar. Sleeping winter, dreaming of spring. Waits for a fickle sun. Chains rattling against a stairway, chin lifted in reverence at an open door. Shadow looming, stingy light behind him a relief. Monstrosity hidden—dark fumbling fingers, hard hands crushing her shell and plucking her crocus petals.
Solicitor general wraps her ivy league education around a pole at night. A wound revisited after dark. Trades her Gucci shoes for clear platform heels—dancing for dollars she doesn’t need. One last lap dance—2am. Mask and g-string—thin disguise. Plain clothes cop off duty, squeezing his prey. Blackmail a game she won’t play.
Free spirit hipsters need not apply. Village vanguard poet in the fight against gentrification. Pen and ink on a white horse, channeling the spirit of scribblers past. Lured by charcoal and sketchpad—moody, broody line and shadow. Fervent kisses—post coital. Displayed on wooden crates amongst grapes—a draped Marat. Still life given for art.
Dusky drive through a Montana valley. A glacier lake peeks between tall trees and sparkles under the setting sun. One curve, one moment—blinking blind. Doe eyes wide, ears perked too late. Swerved into an airbag fail, her face framed in spider web glass. Forehead smoothed in placid sleep, scratched deep—blood soaked sari beneath.
Hiding beneath the grown up table, oldest lonely child, vocabulary choking his mouth. Adolescent pawn with his sights set on the king. They call him Bobby Fischer wannabe. Found a tribe in Central Park, clocked and loaded, smacking timer rush—no tie needed. Fifth Avenue yellow rook—hood ornament tossed onto the pavement. Checkmate cold.
Grimoire crammed with sigils, leather cover soft and scarred—wishes of a witch. Careful altar preparations, a summoning for good. Paper curled blaze. Face flickers in a mirror until transparent. She presses her hand to the glass, spilling inside a head over heels tumble fall. Flame lullaby, immolation spelled out in ashes—her funeral pyre.
Saturday night, divorce decree in hand. Bass beat thrummed blood stream writhing back to chest. Strobe light stroking grind, anonymous full body contact. Thirst scratching at her throat, feet throbbing in her heels. Rohypnol heavy rum and coke. Doppler forecast flood watch—central nervous system storm path. Sleep turned comatose overdose, a newborn rapist’s mistake.
Top class—heavyweight. Ducking and dancing light from belt to belt. Injury topography hidden. Bones twist and break, breath wheezing between hairline fractured ribs. Price paid to pride in silent strength. An uppercut slow motion—opponent underestimated. Thud heavy bounce once, eyes open wide. Exploding heart kissing the mat, trip wire triggered by tangled feet.
All seeing eyes zoom and capture. Wild safari savannas to city streets. Camera bag beaten, patched leather. Veteran boldness—immortal. Trespassed territory scented air. Frantic tree scramble on a California mountainside. Misunderstood hierarchy—man’s mistake. Roar and scream animal mixed human cry. Cracked lens recording one last shot. Exsanguination, extermination of a predator turned prey.
Brooklyn bound weekend defenses down. Text time passage between trains. Sound shot through ear buds—a personal soundtrack. Group chat plans for Saturday night--be there soon. Express train downtown clicks against metal. Spotlight wide beam, rats scurry blind. One foot planted over a wide yellow line, stranger hand of inexplicable injustice—screech and clack.
Nights spent undercover, sneaking knowledge word by word. A pull string toy that belongs to him. Rotating phrases keeping peace—memorized. Plotting and planning a secret midnight run. Bathroom window escape. Rain camouflage assistance, sluiced clean from her past. Lit up eyes, electrified bolt clasps metal tight. Teeth chattering, flesh ossified ozone, premature rigor mortis.
Turning tables into tricks—late night. Serving up herself into grabby hands and greedy wallets. Legitimate illusion. Skimmed bills folded into secret places—midnight inspection. Stumbling in a land where mercy is a foreign tongue, cruelty fluent. Shut into a freezer with the swinging meat. Shivers insufficient. Blue white fingertips. Sleep surrender into frozen perfection.
Meticulous curation—she’s a lifelike magazine. Surrounded by pretty things, a Kondo acolyte. Mastered the magical art of tidying up, joy sparked possessions only. Just one pretty slip and tumble, a fall to break her—china doll. Rain forest shower, blood mixed with water, her cracked open head—unforgiving slick porcelain. Zen circling the drain.
Submerged Ophelia. Floating beneath a leaf papered lake, colorful majesty disturbed by wakes. Slipped down, drowned in the murky underneath. Midnight ride, a row boat turned side, under a moonful eye. Each fold weighted, hydration complication wrapped around her legs in tight embrace. Mouth open, one last hope for breath. Lungs filled deep—autumn rest.
Hides behind papered walls, hairline cracked foundation. Curtains heavy dark and drawn muffled cocoon. Scared to go, scared to stay. Doors open and close, whispers shimmy through radiator hiss. Apparition visit, from the corner of her eye—flinch. Tumbled end over end knocked head and knee. Splayed rag doll—draped over stairs—a specter’s deed.
Silent killer, soft lullaby. A mother’s cradle bundled warm inside. Blinking black spots, synapses snapping electric. Returned migraine, interloper unwelcome. A headache he can’t shake. Moans echoing deep from a cave settled in his chest. Sick weighted heavy lids blinking slow until—lights out. Begging release. One final breath, a shuddering dream. Carbon monoxide REM.
Magical missed connection. You were wearing red shoes—stopped to say you liked my hat. Please call if you remember. Earthy coffee smell, dark chocolate dripping wet—first kiss. Rough scruff, hard hands holding him against alley walls. The man with the hat sliding a knife neat inside his ribs, just to filch a wallet.
Mangled reality, disproportionate pride. Beauty playing dangerous games—a virgin sacrifice. Cloaks howling crazy under the cryptic moon. Mausoleum Madonna, seductive rite of passage. Open up and let us in—voices chanted beneath hoods. Angel wings shiver in the night. Cold unconscious slumber—exquisitely exposed. Staked to a grave, just till dawn—haze gone wrong.
Neon lights and flash of strobe. Robot. Moonwalk. Running man. I want my MTV wannabe. Rolled it up, took the hit—laced with PCP. Trapped and wrapped in memory, towel cape draped across shoulders. Sneakers perched atop an iron balcony, arms spread—superhuman strength. A bird, a plane. A crowd gone silent twenty stories high.
Smooth metal entombed fluorescent buzz hush. A journal, script neat and small, detailing each demise. Handwritten labels on each cabinet door, bodies not destined for burial. Stolen corpses, adopted by force, whispering six feet deep. Reminiscent ruminations of a childhood pastime butterflies with pinned wings. Bartholomew shuts off the light. Whispers goodnight.
is a writer and poet living in the Greater NYC area. She writes completely unladylike erotica and other sundry things. She is a recipient of the Zathom Microfiction Award. Her work has also appeared in Burning House Press, Memoir Mixtapes, Lit Up, P.S. I Love You, My Erotica, Horny Poetry and The Junction. You can find more of her writing at Medium and connect with her on Twitter @j_vandermolen. Her debut chapbook, Death Library: The Exquisite Corpse Collection, was released in 2018 by Moonchild Magazine.
You can give Juliette van der Molen a piece of the moon and stars by tipping here.
COPYRIGHT © MOONCHILD MAGAZINE 2021.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.