Ink In Thirds: In Another Life

In Another Life: A study of mania and its inevitable crash. And also, orange juice. Originally published in the Spring/Summer issue of Ink in Thirds.

In Another Life 

James lies on the motel bed. Outside, a tinsel rain begins to fall. 

He grabs a smoke from the nightstand, lights it, takes a soul-healing drag and closes his eyes. 

The rain sounds like static now. It’s possible he fell asleep. He reminds himself to be more careful. Marie. Burned her house down ten years ago. Just one cigarette. Her cat died and she had nowhere to go. 

He looks at the ceiling tiles. It’s like watching clouds. Shapes rise from nothing.

The face of a woman blooms into view. Marilyn, he sighs. The portrait Warhol copied. A bit of trivia: after she was found, body barely cold, her role in Move Over, Darling was given to Doris Day.

Move over, darling, indeed. 

You know what would be the perfect flower for a Californian funeral? Orange blossoms, he thinks. The shapes in the ceiling erupt in white flowers. Petals fall. He closes his eyes and the sunny smell perfumes. It is dense and far too sweet. Like Doris next to Marilyn, a candy version of the real thing.

The air bursts with citrus. Walls drip with orange blossom honey. Juice runs from the taps. California oranges spill out on the rug. He rolls a foot over a piece of fruit. It massages his instep. He takes a deep breath and presses it to a pulp. Turns it to wine. 

The rain’s picked up. He looks outside – a solid sheet of steel. His thoughts speed up, then spin out, a record with no needle to guide it. He’s not in control, but this is the flow. A not unheard of affliction for creative types like you, the doctor had said. 

The clouds on the ceiling pinwheel. Tiny tornadoes dance. Cotton candy floss rains down the walls. He wants to follow the threads but they’re running in a million directions.

A voice calls out from behind the bathroom door. 

“Help me,” it says.

He walks to it. The windowless womb with the happy pink tub, his medications, his straight razor. He rests his hand on the knob. 

“I will help you.”

Ink in Thirds is a lusciously curated publication, offering both print and digital editions. Established in 2016, they describe themselves as “a boutique literary magazine that publishes Poetry, Prose, and Photography/Art. The focus is on the emotive, visceral layers of the human condition, bringing artists and writers together in cohesive fluidity.”

Ink in Thirds is a mood and a vibe. Cozy, misty. Liminal. I feel it’s what ghosts might read on the train. Big thanks to them for publishing this.