The Truth of Morbidity – Sara Guhl

“You’re quite morbid.” A simple statement, right? Wrong. In fact, the opposite. It was a statement of the utmost complexity: a divine question disguised as three little words. What did it really mean? You’ll see.


The sky was a clear, serene, picturesque blue: the stereotypical kind a child would imagine when asked to draw the outdoors. The grass was of the same metaphorical origin: a bright green that was sharp on the edges and would cut you if you messed with it. I, on the other hand, was not vivid. The bright summer sky and lawn swallowed up my daydreaming figure. My glazed-over eyes ignored the drifting puffs of clouds. It felt nice just laying there: the sun on my sprawled out form and the slight breeze dusting by.

A few birds hummed their tunes, gleeful and oblivious. In the nearby distance, families on picnics laughed and a few delighted squeals escaped into the wind. I smiled to myself. They didn’t know yet, but soon, right? Of course. Soon they’d see the browned grass and the flattened blades of it. They’d follow the trail I’d left and find me. I couldn’t wait. Come find me, friends! Behold my horrific beauty and the iron laced liquid strewn everywhere.

A scream. One single note, held and belted by a large woman. How ironic. The fat lady sang and I came to an end. She yelled for a man named Harold. What a terrible name.

“Call the police!” she shouted. I hated her voice. It was scratchy and irritating and just distasteful. I’d hoped someone beautiful, handsome, or young would have found me, but no. Instead, I got a witch with a faux crocodile purse and pounds to spare.

I tuned her out, instead imaging a child dragging his mother out to see me. “Mommy! He looks hurt!” The boy would speak of me. The mother’s horror would not be for my safety. She’d rush her baby out, sneaking paranoid glances back as she dialed 911. I imagine she’d be in her twenties: flowy black hair and a pale blue sun dress. The boy would be in blue, jean overalls.

Sirens. They were the things I hated most. Yes, they drew attention, but they startled me even when I expected them. My blank stare faltered as I flinched. The annoying lard bag yelled out to someone I assumed was a blue uniformed officer. I didn’t avert my gaze from the blue above.

“What happened here?” a man asked at me, his ugly face blocking my view of that perfect sky.

Go away. I said nothing.

Cleaned up? No. Simply transferred to a room where they proceeded to tell me what they thought I’d done.

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

“They say he was your best friend, so what happened? He’s dead.” I simply nodded in comprehension of his statement. “You’re quite morbid.” His words were a lovely set, but it was his eyes that asked the real question: “Don’t you feel guilty?”

To it, I answered with a curious head shake, completely mute as I would stay for the duration of eternity.


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