Degausser

de·gauss [dee-gous]— vb

1. to neutralize the magnetic field of a ship's hull (as a protection against magnetic mines) using equipment producing an opposing magnetic field

2. another word for demagnetize

de·gauss·er [dee-gou-ser] —n

1. something that degausses.

“God, I’ve missed the chronic taste, of cheap gin upon your lips; entwined with mine, like cauterized skin,” she gnawed her words, watching him tremble as they lingered. Her body convulsed, slithering into a state of ecstasy, as she was finally able to indulge in her addiction. Only at 38,000 feet could she dig her talons into the haunting cavort that allowed her soul to slip away into the present; her cold hands grasping at life, aching to have a pulse. It was during the scattered, shuddering breaths like his that she discovered herself a vampire, sinking teeth into her prey. Only, she knew she could create destruction far better than any myth, as though there was an individual tempest brimming in each of her fingertips. She could feel his body clenching as she watched the pupils in his muddied blue eyes shrink as he gaped at her. “Is this supposed to be her hell or mine?” he asked himself.

Despite his inner cry for help: the roiling of his murky moons, back and forth; the studying her face, praying that she would take pity on him... He was completely mute, unable to get down on his knees and beg. Something about her had a hint of dreadful familiarity, one that caused him to feel an uncomfortable aching in his bones. There was a searing echo of her words, words that his memory had no recollection of but his body responded to, cringing. Her voice was as harsh as the grinding of teeth, like the primitive sound of fingernails scraping a chalkboard, “I love you so much, but do me a favor, baby. Don’t reply.”

She didn’t have to cackle to make him cower, instead fixing her shrewd, soulless eyes upon him as she considered the sadistic possibilities. Her hollow-cheeked, gaunt neck dangled closer to his and he felt her breath tickle his face. Naturally, his body reacted as a flower blossoming at her touch, his lips pursing at the inhalation of her sickly-sweet, syruped perfume.  She was a putrid bouquet of poppies rife with the musk hint of decay. His eyelids fluttered shut. Determined to abscond from her allure he forced them back open. Much to her inhuman pleasure, she knew he was no degausser. Her grey fingers snatched his collar and she brought his face to meet hers, locking lips with him again. This time he felt her underneath his skin. This time he gave in.

Unveiling the enigma he had exerted himself to conceal, his thoughts spoke for him, a new mantra: “I’ll let the bad parts in, I’ll let the bad parts in, I’ll let the bad parts in.” Now that she had his attention, she turned frigid; her pale eyes fell upon him and froze his heart with her wretched gaze. He was paralyzed; she spoke.

“I could be anyone. The silent wind grazing your arms and sending shivers down your back, the sound of your pulsating heart throbbing, echoing inside your head. I could be anything. I could be envious... So I am. Every time I stand up no one looks my way. Am I a soulless body, dragging itself through the day? I delicately place my tongue between my teeth and bite. Hard. What does it feel like to be real? I watch you slouch in your seat, the small opening of your lips. You are the predictable book that I flip through, hardly bothering to even glance over the pictures. But I? I am the book that's never even left the shelf. Do you enjoy watching me collect dust? I swallow, the sound of your footsteps echo through the hollow hallways, passing through me as though I am dissolving into the sky.

‘Who are you?’ Your voice tries to coo calmly, but I can hear the desperation clinging in your throat. You're trying to claw your way out of this darkness, but do you really want to see the light? I told you that I could be anyone; I've laid out my whole being for you and am now waiting, waiting for you to see what you've always seen, but a second time. And when I give you an answer, don't be afraid to meet me halfway, you are so close to escaping the poison of your own mind.

I can hear your heavy breath and I know the truth. I would tell you not to bother with the reverberation of your words, but, ‘Who are-who are you?’ they double over themselves too immediately to be heard distinctly. Do you feel me now? I could scratch open your chest, watch you heave as your secrets pour out, an unending tale of surreptitious sin. And you, oh you, you thought you would win.

Have you ever come across a serpent devouring its own tail? I can tell you desire to make something of yourself. But what are you willing to risk, would you eat your own tail for the chance of eternal life? Stop wringing your wrists and listen to me, listen to the world, as you know you never have before.

You have no feelings in your brain, it is all embodied. So why try to transcend that body? To overcome your own creation. The king must die, but there are consequences with the slicing of veins and the way your eyes widen to try and take in the world.”

Perspiration dripping down his face he awoke with a scream, terrified of the dream that burdens him every time he flies. “Are you okay, sir? Is there anything I can get for you?” the slender stewardess looked at him with wide eyes. He immediately felt his heart pulsate and some of the blood return to his dead face for he could not believe the sight of life. “Finally, eyes with spirit and warmth,“ he thought, letting out all the air that had built up in his chest, only then realizing that he had been holding his breath. “No,” he spoke softly as he turned down the empathy he so dearly craved, “I’m fine, thank you.”

For the first time, he paused to take in his surroundings and felt relieved to have sat in first class, where he did not disturb as many people. He pulled up the blind, brought his chair upright, and excused himself to the bathroom. He was surprised to come face to face with a raw-boned, sallow monster. A sweaty mess looked at him with two muddy oceans of panicked eyes for a long moment before he realized that it was only the mirror, a reflection of his disheveled self. “It was only a dream, it was only a dream, it was only a dream,” he spoke his mantra in a stern voice and splashed frigid water onto his solemn face. He was alive.

“Could I please get a gin and tonic?” he asked the stewardess with a grin as he settled down into his seat. He leaned back and sank into the safety of his chair, once again allowing his eyes to scan the room he had awoken in. They stopped, his eyes having fell upon the face of another passenger, a woman he had not noticed previously. She looked as though she had just gone for a run, heaving, gasping for any air she could get into her lungs. Feeling his leer, she twisted around, allowing him to see her alarmed eyes. He recognized them, the eyes. Although they were brown, the eyes fostered the same anxiety he had seen moments ago, in the mirror.

A jingle danced through the air and reached his ears, the same haunting voice he’d heard in his dream, “I’d die for you one time, but never again.”