Lit

The light from the living room television flickered against my heavy eyelids. My red flannel pajama bottoms hung loose against the frame of my legs; my knees bent and pulled up to my chest. The gray cotton of my old sweatshirt kept my slim body warm against the chill of the November air outside the two-story cottage I once shared with my husband. The large plush armchair I sat curled up in was the last of my husband’s things that still remained at the house. Though I no longer felt comfort in our deteriorating relationship, the beige material of the chair became my refuge, the soft fabric swallowing my tired body. Something as simple as an old, worn chair reminded me of the person David was before we had separated; before he yelled instead of talked and drank instead of socialized. My father had warned me that we’d rushed into marriage, but I had insisted I would prove him wrong, moving to a small farming town in the heart of Fulton County, Pennsylvania. Being a city girl myself, I wasn’t settled on the idea of raising swine to make a living; I knew I’d miss the noise of the city. But the more I fell in love with David, the more I fell in love with the tranquility of the country and the beautiful simplicity of our lives together.  Years later, that person was gone—probably states away now—and the woman he left behind now found company in the hundreds of pigs outside in the large white barn, and the quiet flicker of late night television.

“Laser beams… melting their flesh… the smoke sending signals to their home plant…” the man on the Sci-Fi television station droned.

I opened my eyes slowly, the brown of them peeking out between the parting flesh of my lids. As I reached a sleepy hand up to push my chocolate brown hair behind my ear, I pressed the “information” button on the silver TV remote with my free hand. Aliens Revenge the title read, and directly across from it, the time, 5:15am. The program illuminated the dark room with images of green-brown aliens, their slanted eyes massive and intriguing. As the deep voice of the program’s announcer filled the chill air, I soaked up all the details I was being given; mesmerized by the complexity of the small creatures.  Though I might not have believed in it years ago, my separation from my husband had me willing and ready to believe in anything again- no matter how paranormal that belief might be.

“Oh my gosh…” I whispered under my breath, an orange glow illuminating the room from the image of fire dancing across the TV screen. Mesmerized, I watched as helpless cows burned in front of me, the program announcer informing me that it was the aliens’ way of making a statement.

“They wanted to show the humans that they are not only out there in the universe, but more powerful than we ever thought”, he said.

I shifted forward on the edge of my seat, my small sock-clad feet pressed hard into the brown carpet, suddenly attentive and wide awake; sleep the furthest thing from my mind. The glow from the television illuminated my face, tinting the whites of my eyes a pale shade of yellow. As the movement of the flames on the television flicked across my pupils, I felt so engulfed in the paranormal story that I could almost smell the smoke; the thick gray smoke heavy as it traveled up to fill my senses. For a brief second I closed my eyes, the strong odor of the chalky smoke I thought I was imagining, suddenly suffocated the room. Quickly I jumped to my feet, my eyes flitting across the room in a panic, searching for the source of the smell. My eyes settled on the white, unsigned divorce papers on the wooden kitchen table, an orange glow from just outside the large bay window illuminating the heavy black print of the legal document. I slowly made my way across the living room carpet, tip-toeing as I walked, my eyes never leaving the animated glow on the divorce papers.

As I rounded the corner into the kitchen, my jaw dropped at the sight just outside the large window. The massive white barn that housed over 900 pigs was lit and alive with huge angry flames. Though the sun had begun to rise against the night sky, the nearly black smoke billowing from the fiery mess caked the atmosphere, diming the rising sun. I stared wide-eyed and helpless from behind the glass, my small hand coming up to rest against the cold surface; my warm breath forcing a rounded pattern of condensation to spread across the window, fogging the view. As the condensation quietly faded away, I caught a glimpse of something moving along the side of the barn. A large green blur disappeared into the drying cornfield, sending my stomach plummeting to my feet.
“Aliens…” I whispered breathlessly.

An hour later, I found myself sitting on the dewy grass just outside the old barn, shivering under a scratchy black blanket the police had given me. Though my shaky hands had barely managed to dial three simple numbers on the telephone, the police had finally arrived. The Fulton County firemen had arrived soon after, exhausting the flames with large rubber fire hoses, their oversized plastic hats sliding down their sweat covered foreheads. The exterior of the old barn was becoming unrecognizable. As powerful streams of water blasted the once white panels of the building, dark liquid ash dripped down the length of the barn, staining the panels and creating a toxic mud at the base of the building. Just to the right of the building, I could see a handful of police officers whispering amongst themselves, some stealing a few glances in my direction. I couldn’t quite make sense of the looks on their faces, but I imagined the pained expression on their faces was a mixture of pity and disbelief to the story I’d told them when they’d first arrived.

“What happened here ma’am?” A round police man questioned, slowly removing a pen from his shirt pocket.

“I don’t know… I was watching TV and there were aliens burning cows and then all of a sudden the barn was on fire.” I rambled, a shiver racking through my body.

“Aliens, ma’am?” the man asked in disbelief, his badge on his left pocket reading John.

“You are aware that this economy is tough, correct?” he asked, pausing only long enough to watch my expression change to confusion.
“A lot of the people have been setting fire to their belongings in order to reap the insurance benefits…” he began.
“Wait. No. No. No. I did not do this! I even saw someone or something jump into the cornfield!” I tried to defend.
“The cornfield, ma’am?… I’ll be back.” John muttered, before he shuffled off to discuss with the other policemen.

I now fiddled with the blades of wet grass, staring absently into the dry stalks of the cornfield. I know what I saw, I thought to myself. Though I had never wanted to move to the country by choice, I would never set my own property on fire. The idea of ruining something stationary in the life I once shared with David just for money, made me nauseous.

“We got something!” I heard, suddenly scampering to my feet, the warmth of the blanket sliding off my shoulders.

An array of police officers were pulling something out from the cornfield, wrestling it to the ground with their weight. I watched has a large burly officer raided the person’s pockets, tossing a box of matches off to the side. The four policemen hoisted the stranger up by the back of their green flannel shirt, nudging them forward towards and into the light of the rising sun.
“David.” I breathed out between my parted lips, instantly bringing my hand up to rest on my heart. As the loud organ thumped roughly against my chest, I watched the sad face of my husband slowly illuminating by the fall sun. Before I could realize what I was doing, I had begun to walk slowly to where my husband was being lead; the officers forcing his body against the white exterior of the police car’s hood.

“Kerron… I’m so sorry…” David muffled, staring apologetically at my face.
“Why would you do this?” I questioned, gesturing to the charred barn with my free hand, the other still resting firmly on my heart.

“You never wanted to live here. I thought that if I could get rid of the reason we came here, then we could start over.” He responded, before he ducked his head into the backseat of the car.

“David…” I began, the tears in my eyes catching me by surprise.
I found myself suddenly at a loss for words. Something was abruptly different. The absent look in the color of my husband’s eyes made me sick. I had spent months living my life in a sleepless, drowsy fog waiting for something; closure or a rewind of time. But as the door shut on the frost covered police car, the faded eyes of my husband staring out from behind the window, I felt nothing. As the fire in the distance flickered out, so did that of our relationship, leaving behind a mess of ash and long awaited closure.

As I watched the cold metal of the police car, pull onto the dirt road, I silently said goodbye to David. The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach began to diminish, the biting chill of the air outside seemed to warm-up, heating my cheeks. I closed my exhausted eyes for a brief moment, inhaling deeply. I had expected the cold crisp air to slide in and out of my lungs smoothly; to be released back out into the night air as a burst of steam. Instead, I felt hot smoke fill my chest, constricting my throat. I could smell burnt hair as my eyelashes and the ends of my hair curled and melted. I couldn’t move. The flesh on my arms and legs began to bubble and sting. I could hear myself weakly scream with all the strength I had left in my body, before I slowly opened my eyes. Instead of staring out at our old dirt driveway, from beneath the dark, cold sky, I was staring up at the ceiling of the living room; large dominating flames crawling across the textured carpet in my direction, encircling my immobile body.

I strained my eyes against the brightness of the flames around me, the tall frame of a man staring back at me. I could faintly recognize the drunken smirk on his lips, and the brand of whisky in his hand: Benchmark, David’s favorite. I tried to lift my head in his direction—attempt to crawl to my knees— but I couldn’t move. My whole body felt heavy and weighted to the floor as the burning mass of flames began to bite at the fabric of my clothes.

“David. Please.” I tried, the voice escaping my throat almost unrecognizable.

I watched David turn to face me, disconnect in his eyes as he inched closer to where I laid.

“Why would you do this?” I heard myself say, the blood in my body beginning to heat and boil under my skin.

“I never wanted to leave here. But I know that if I can get rid of you; get rid of the reason I was forced to leave, then I can start over.” He spat coldly, turning on his heels, leaving behind a mess of ash and unrequited spite.