1 Story by Victoria Hood
Wilting
My best friend has become quite the bog. She has become such a swamp. Lately, my best friend has filled with water and grass and drowned in the dreams of what she used to be.
We all tried to save her. We all reached out and asked her to please please please reach towards us. We told her to take her hands out of her pockets, we had enough change for her, we could afford to carry her too - the horse we rented could hold us all. We all reached out but we must have mixed our messages because she didn’t know who to reach for. She didn’t know we had the money. She never knew we rented the horse.
My best friend has become quiet and still in the wake of her death. She has slowed slowed slowed to the last version we all loved of her. For me it is her laughing while we camp, laughing while we drink, laughing while we kiss. For me it is her laughing. It is her being happy and at peace with the world. It is her as I knew her - laughing.
But today I woke up and I opened my phone and I saw the notification: Best friend has turned to bog. I asked my phone what it meant. I saw the response: Best friend is wilted and mold, must find new. I don’t want new. I don’t want new.
My best friend had become rugged. Had become hard to wear. Had begun to become fragile and small. Lingering inside of my memory is best friend at her fullest, at her happiest, at peace with being a cloud and taking us all for a ride - taking us all to our happy places. My best friend has deflated and crashed.
My best friend has become a bog. Crashed and burned into a bog. Felt like they couldn’t climb out of the bog. Stayed and slept in the bog. Made a home in the bog. Is starting a family in the bog.
My best friend has become quite the bog. She has become such a swamp. Lately, my best friend has filled with water and grass and drowned in the dreams of what she used to be.
We all tried to save her. We all reached out and asked her to please please please reach towards us. We told her to take her hands out of her pockets, we had enough change for her, we could afford to carry her too - the horse we rented could hold us all. We all reached out but we must have mixed our messages because she didn’t know who to reach for. She didn’t know we had the money. She never knew we rented the horse.
My best friend has become quiet and still in the wake of her death. She has slowed slowed slowed to the last version we all loved of her. For me it is her laughing while we camp, laughing while we drink, laughing while we kiss. For me it is her laughing. It is her being happy and at peace with the world. It is her as I knew her - laughing.
But today I woke up and I opened my phone and I saw the notification: Best friend has turned to bog. I asked my phone what it meant. I saw the response: Best friend is wilted and mold, must find new. I don’t want new. I don’t want new.
My best friend had become rugged. Had become hard to wear. Had begun to become fragile and small. Lingering inside of my memory is best friend at her fullest, at her happiest, at peace with being a cloud and taking us all for a ride - taking us all to our happy places. My best friend has deflated and crashed.
My best friend has become a bog. Crashed and burned into a bog. Felt like they couldn’t climb out of the bog. Stayed and slept in the bog. Made a home in the bog. Is starting a family in the bog.
Victoria Hood holds an MA in English from the University of Maine. Her work has been published in Interpret Magazine, pioneertown, Selcouth Station and Meow Meow Pow Pow Lit. Her collection of short stories My Haunted Home is forthcoming from FC2 in Fall 2022. Victoria’s poetry chapbook Death and Darlings was published in 2022 by Bottlecap Press and her chapbook I am My Mother's Disappointments is forthcoming from Really Serious Literature. Overall, she hopes to discomfort, humor and charm.