Lighted Corners
Ovarian Doppelgänger Kelley Northam A knife pierces my abdomen. It drives itself through my outer flesh and thrusts itself deeper into my naked skin. It twists itself around in circles, tearing my insides with every movement. Another knife impales me, then another, and another ripping apart my guts like a paper shredder. My assailant must be skilled, for she knows how to butcher me in perfect synchronization as the serrated blades slice me up in absolute unity. She must be going for a clean cut judging by the way she’s carving me. Her strokes are powerful and strong, yet concentrated on the one area that she aims to eviscerate. She continues to stab, relentlessly poking holes in me until my abdomen resembles Swiss cheese. Who are you? Why are you doing this to me? My eyes fly open and I look down at my throbbing abdomen, almost expecting to see knives protruding from my body and the wounds spewing blood in all directions. My assailant has disappeared unnoticed back into my dream and has taken her attempted murder weapons with her. She has left me for dead and shrouded my broken body with my own sheets and blankets. My roommate’s congested snores fill the small dorm room. I smell the waning aroma of eucalyptus and lavender oil from the diffuser that I turned on to help me sleep and the awakening smell of percolating caffeine coming from the
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kitchen. I look over at my clock and there is still a 15-minute window left for her to return and finish me off before I have to get ready for class. Yet, the pain continues in her absence. I attempt to roll my aching body off my lumpy twin XL bed, but my abdomen howls at me for daring to move even the slightest bit. I cover my mouth to prevent the howl from escaping and waking my roommate as I recoil back into the safety of my warm sheets. My attacker has tried to trap me in my bed without even binding me, and she has attempted to convince my abdomen to prevent me from escaping her clutches. I taste iron as I gnaw on my bottom lip and try to swing my lower half onto the dingy dorm-room carpet far below. My translucent enemy has escaped from my dreams and is hiding under my bed; however, as she pulls the carpet out from under me, my feet hit the floor and my body collapses in a writhing heap. She is swift as a ninja as she overcomes me and impales me again and again, more forcefully this time, with a set of freshly sharpened steel daggers that annihilate my insides when I attempt to right myself. The faded blue carpet scrapes against my flesh like sandpaper as I drag my body upwards, grabbing the cold wooden bedpost for support. What’s wrong with me? My nails desperately claw into the
