Georgia Gothic

thisisemilysfault:

– It is fall. The time has come to choose: Red and Black or Yellow and Black? There are no other colors. Whichever one you choose, you will be followed by the sounds of invisible hordes, buzzing or barking. You cannot abstain. There is a wrong choice. No one will tell you what the wrong choice is. You used to know some people who made the wrong choice, once. Their families miss them very much.

– It is winter. It was 70 degrees yesterday. Today, ice covers the world. It will be 70 degrees again tomorrow, but the ice will not melt. It does not snow. Snow is a myth made up to make you think that winter is kind. Roving packs of marauders pillage towns for the two holy treasures: bread and milk.

– It is spring. The pollen drifts only to hip-height. It is not bad this year. As many as 3% of those with allergies may yet survive the culling. The dogwoods bloom, and blood drips from the stigmata of their petals. You try not to be reminded of the blood dripping from the cross, the shuddering impact of the hammer, the sounds of it all. Winter had to end, you tell yourself. You did what was best. Easter is coming.

– It is summer. The air conditioner is broken. The blades of the fan snap on contact with the humidity. Your body works to regain its seasonal gills before the air can drown you. You watch the devil return home to cooler climes. He will be back with more fiddles in 6 months. He always is.

– It is rush hour on 85. You have just passed an exit. The next one is in a mile. You are in the wrong lane. No matter which lane you are in, it will be the wrong one. You are used to failure. It has been rush hour for as long as you can remember. The next exit is in a mile. You remember your grandparents saying the same, when it was their turn in the front seat.

– “Hotlanta.” You hear it behind you in the street. The skin on your neck crawls. “Hotlanta.” You hurry away from the group of tourists, cold sweat prickling down your back. “Hotlanta.” You cringe as the screaming starts. Why do they never listen to the warnings read by Mayor Kasim Reed over the airport PA?

– There is a new terminal at Hartsfield-Jackson. There are multiple interpretations of the word “terminal.” One ends in a field of hearts.

– A kindly old woman makes you a pitcher of sweet tea. It tastes like syrup and makes your teeth ache. You drink it all. You saw what happened to those who didn’t.

– The river in Savannah is green. It is St. Patrick’s Day, but that doesn’t matter. The serpent under the water is always green. St. Patrick failed us.

– You are in a bar in Athens. REM plays over the sound system. You walk out the door, directly into another bar. REM is still playing. Every door you open leads to a new bar. They all play REM. You have heard stories that, somewhere, there is a door that leads to a college. You do not see how this could be true.

– “Georgia on My Mind” comes on the radio. You try to think of Oregon instead. It is impossible. Georgia is on your mind. Georgia is everything.

– Y’all come back now, you hear? Y’all. Come back, now. You hear? Y’all. Come back now! You hear. It is not yet time to summon the elder gods, Y’all.