Jimbo here — Oh boy, do I have one for ya. From my editors, this quote says it all: Do I think we should publish it? Yes. It’s dark and weird as fuck. I loved it. Unique and unsettling. The writer achieves a lot in such a short piece. You won’t forget reading this piece.’
Thyme Well Spent
Inside of an incubator, my child lay. I poked through the holes to
rub her soft curls. Her hair, thin and cottony, the color of earth, wrapped
around my fingers gently. When I pulled back, a single thread remained on my
finger, and I stood, searching for a way to be rid of it. My hand found a
solution by placing it on my tongue. I licked my lips.
She wailed. I smiled.
===
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At 6, she decided to be a tree, enjoying how they could touch the
sky. To achieve this, she took a brush and slathered paint to her head. I
watched her, giggled with her, and even took to painting with her. Her mother
was not very pleased with our artwork.
Her hair was curly and spattered with green, the color of thyme I
had told her. Whenever she dashed past me or rushed to give me a hug, I had to
suppress myself. Every part of me wanted to run my hands through her curls,
feel them twine and retract around my fingers, as I pulled them away from her
face and let them snap back into their pristine coils. I frequently had to
remove myself, giving a brief “I need some air” before exiting the room and
sprinting away, wherever to calm myself, lest my excitement show, and her
mother remove me from our lives.
One night, however, after the clocks had struck twelve and I had
woken from a nightmare of police finding me with the Thyme, I gave myself to
such bliss. Knowing that her mother had started to catch on, I snuck to her
room and snipped off a lock of her hair, tucking it into my pocket as a
keepsake before I needed to flee. I placed my lips on her forehead, knowing I
couldn’t stay in this home, not with her here, not how I felt. As I left, I
found myself frozen in the doorway and turned to look at her, basked in
moonlight. I took the shears and delicately, snipped off another strand, this
time holding it to the light. The moonlight, reflecting off of her emerald
locks enraptured me, and before I knew it, I had swallowed the entire strand.
When her mother came to get her in the morning, she found her
bald, and me, with a mouthful of thyme.
===
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At 16, she was taken from me. Not through a custody battle, after all I
had lost my role as her father ten years prior after her mother discovered me.
No, her reckless friends, the fools, drove under the influence, taking my
darling Thyme with them. I wasn’t allowed at the funeral; not that that would
stop me.
That evening, when the sun had fallen and the sky glimmered with
constellations, I found her plot and dug. I wasn’t aware of how frantic my
digging came until I was three feet below. I needed to reach her. Needed to see
my Thyme, in its, her, final state. I needed to see how her cheeks lost
their luster and how her hair was desaturating. I needed her, in my system,
needed her to remind me of what I had lost by giving into my gluttony and
consuming what was in front of me.
I hit her mahogany coffin. The clunk echoed through the night, a
sound only I and the nearby crickets could hear.
I brushed off the dirt, digging wildly with my hands, earth
staining my nails as I dragged the leftover soil off of her. I pried her coffin
open, revealing her face, once again, illuminated by the moon rising above us.
I cackled, seeing her hair, my Thyme, spread out across the coffin in messy
streaks, and brought my face to it, inhaling deeply. I held the shovel over my
head and plunged it down, separating her locks from her head repeatedly. When
the shovel couldn’t separate more, I used my hands, digging wildly into her
flesh to separate the follicles from her scalp. When my fingers did not
suffice, I used my teeth, biting into her skin and yanking off hearty chunks of
meat from her skull, to get as close to the source of her thyme. I ate, tendril
upon tendril, like a man possessed.
When I had eaten my fill, I looked to the sky, seeing the red and
blue flashing lights illuminating the opening of her grave. The officers
approached me, and I threw myself on top of her, not wanting strangers to
intrude on our moment. Of course, I was pried away; five officers used their
combined strength to remove me from her grave. Wildly I screamed, desiring
nothing more but to go back, to pet her hair and taste her thyme as only she
possessed. My cries reverberated through the night, eerily reminiscent of the
wails that occurred on the day she entered the world.
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When I peer into her coffin for the final time, my eyes wild with
fury and indescribable pain, I saw her face, smiling back at me.
Italia Fields is a playwright, screenwriter, photographer, and aspiring filmmaker. She has a passion for writing horror and comedy – often combining the two. She is a senior at Coe College double majoring in Creative Writing and Film Studies. She currently resides in Chicago, IL. “Thyme Well Spent” is her first fiction publication.
So I happened upon this very cheesecake-heavy premiere issue of Extremes of Violet, complete with pinups by some of the comic book greats of the time, and decided to make some Peeping Toms collage art by incorporating the voluptuous vixen into various crystal pieces to create a sort of fishbowl effect centered largely on her bosom (which is unavoidable).
Each of the Peeping Toms is shown from three angles because of how much the pieces shift as the light plays off the crystal. I started with these star forms.
The second bowl was even a bit iridescent, and violet at that!
Next I did a series of really perky busty bowls, which really get the feeling across that you are looking through the tiny peephole in a door as well as exemplifying the content even more. Note: these are shown in two rows with side details as well, so there are a lot of pics here…
I experimented a little and tried a couple of other scenes, like the portrait, as well. She’s staring back at the Peeping Toms…
I also tried this more square bowl form.
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And finally, I found this little heart, which is my personal favorite of the group.
These works are a continuation of my Creepy Comics collage series, shown on Haunted MTL here.
So I probably should have taken a before picture, but I found a faux wood stained plaster Jesus statue and turned it into Zombie Christ. Because it’s the second second coming. Or something. It’s kind of an offshoot of my nail polish paintings reappropriating thrift store art…
Anyway without further ado, I present…
I was a little concerned that I made him too green at first, but I’m happy with the finished result. This statue just looked so anguished. It’s eyes had been closed but I like them better open and even painted them with blacklight reactive nail polish so they will stand out even more and be interactive in other ways to add creepy factor.
Sadly I don’t have a blacklight anymore or I’d share a picture that way too. Oh well. I’ll leave you with a fun detail shot instead.
Next time I may make him more gray than green though. We shall see…
So it’s been awhile since we’ve looked at some of the things I have gathered, so I thought I’d bring back my art collection for another round… Here are the first and second highlights in case you missed earlier explorations.
From left to right: M Pena Windstone Editions bat-winged flap cat, bone mask by Terry and Susan Wright, wood cat in skull by labcreature, real hair art by myself, pencil drawing of Barbarois Elder for Vampire Hunter D anime cel
From left to right: Barbarois Elder for Vampire Hunter D anime cel, Turn Me Royal portrait of my father and stepmother as Frankenstein’s monster and his bride, painted horse skull
Left to right: Overgrowth by Ellie Bradley, heart by TenderFlesh, praying devil girl by Torman’s Treasures
And a vintage plastic 2-foot Jack O Lantern I got at a yard sale and have kept on display on his very own stool in the living room since. So happy.
Anyway, there are some more highlights from my art collection, as it is always growing and evolving. I have lucked into several of these pieces at antique and thrift stores or acquired them from the artists or more. And yes, I still have Da Ting the taxidermy shih-tzu from the first of these posts.