Flood

My brain on fire,

I walked through the front door

of my studio apartment,

turned on all the lights that worked

and threw myself onto the bed,

staring at the white popcorn ceiling,

looking for the usual comforting

patterns and faces

but instead finding accusing stares

and pained grimaces.

A little to the right of the light fixture

in the center of the ceiling,

something new:

a black spot,

about the size of a dime

from where I lay.

Was it a bug? A spot of mildew?

I couldn’t reach it even if I stood on my bed,

so I tried my best to ignore it,

turned on my side

to trace the paths of the cracks in the walls.

My heart pounding, sweating.

squeezed my eyes shut,

then out of curiosity,

peered over my shoulder

at the black spot on the ceiling,

which seemed distinctly larger now.

Which is impossible, right?

Right.

A trick of the eye

or maybe I hadn’t sized it up

correctly to begin with.

But I watched it grow larger

before my widening eyes,

spread like a dark pool of blood

above me.

It started dripping down on me,

thick, viscous, oily, foul-smelling.

I leapt out of my bed,

watched the substance rain darkly

onto my comforter and sheets.

Most of the ceiling was black now,

and after a while,

most of my bed was soaked.

I couldn’t breathe from the odor.

Coughing, gagging,

I ran to the kitchen sink,

turned on the tap

to wash my shaking hands.

Dark sludge poured out

in a steady stream.

I looked down at my hands

and my clothes,

and the black drops on them

were drawn to each other,

pooling together.

I furiously wiped my hands

on the legs of my dirty jeans,

stripped down to my underwear,

kicked the pile of tainted clothing away.

I walked out onto the balcony,

mostly naked,

closed the sliding glass door.

I looked down on the street,

slick with rain,

the coffee shops and restaurants

where all the lights were on,

honking cars

brisk pedestrians

everyone with plans

and places to go

and people to meet.

My couch, my stove, my television

now completely submerged,

the pressure building up

against the door,

I was unable to control the tide.