Being part of a Writing Group
Being part of a Writing Group

Unholy Trinity: For the Flies by Eliza Hyde

Our church worships at the altar of the Unholy Trinity. Its gospels are delivered as a trio of dark drabbles, linked so that Three become One. All hail the power of the Three.

These drabbles detail three key parts in the unnamed murderer’s life – himself as a teen, then a story in the throes of his serial killing, and finally a final drabble set at the end of his life. Flies are a recurring theme in each of the drabbles, signifying death. I took the idea from a longer piece I wrote which was never published, again from the P.O.V of a serial killer. 

Consumed by Death

I’d never seen a naked woman before, let alone a dead one.

She was sprawled on the floor, her eyes glassy and unseeing. Flies darted across her body, over skin that was just the wrong shade of pale. No breath escaped her blue lips, no steady rise and fall of her chest. 

Properly Dead. 

There were no clues as to how she might have passed on, especially with her being so youthful. I knelt down beside her, my fourteen year-old self fascinated by her frozen perfection. I allowed myself to be caught in her empty gaze, and never really escaped.

Hunger

The woman was alone, and I swear I could hear the annoying thudding of her heartbeat.

Her heart will be the first to go, I thought. I’ll hold the wretched thing in my hands, relishing its dying, futile pulses. 

I was hungry for blood, and the flies…the flies were hungry for death. I could hear them too, buzzing greedily in the darkness. I owed it to them, my companions in murder.

I hung back in the shadows, protected by the night. I gripped my dagger tightly as the woman approached, unsuspecting. 

Her heart pounding in her chest.

Not for long

Time Bleeds Away

I coughed, tasting blood on my lips. Somewhere, a clock ticked and tocked. A frustrating mechanical heartbeat, out of reach and a constant reminder that my time was slowly ebbing away.

I was too weak to climb up, knock it off the wall, smash it to pieces just as I’d destroyed a dozen lives or more. Instead I lay there on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Pathetic, tired, but free. Just myself, and a head full of secrets.

I wonder if they’ll ever find the bodies, I pondered, hearing the faint buzzing of some hungry flies.

Hungry for me…

Eliza Hyde

Eliza Hyde is a trans writer, teacher, Youtuber, radio presenter and Doctor Who fanatic, who divides her spare time between drinking tea, watching horror movies and listening to heavy metal. She has had several short stories and Doctor Who-related essays published in the past, and is currently working on a novel. Her favourite authors are Poppy Z. Brite and Douglas Adams, and her favourite Doctor Who is all of them.

 

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