Emily Dickinson 2.0

Avatar Author: jesteram I like to hit 1,024 exactly. Read Bio

I heard a fly buzz when I died.

It was still buzzing, flinging its tiny blue self against the cold window, when I came back the next day.

I had signed away what portion of me I could make assignable—namely, that dim and bottled essence some call a soul, formlessly locked somewhere deep within until Death stops to draw it out with his civil hand, long-fingered and clean.

I had yearned for that Day of Days so long. I had been so eager to taste eternity, I eagerly put my name to the necessary papers that would ensure my return, so that I might be able to reflect on passing through the veil.

While I slept, so I was told, after the last consumptive breath went out and did not draw back again, the shimmering dust of artificial life crept through my sluggish veins. My skin changed to alabaster. Strange oils and liquors coursed through me.

Then, I opened my crystalline eyes. The fly buzzed on. Someone was humming “The Yellow Rose of Texas.”

From this side of life, of death, I will say: Exultation is the going.

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  1. Avatar jesteram

    I don’t where this idea came from, but it’s one of two, based on popular Ficly themes. This is robot based, the other is zombie based. I suppose Emily Dickinson Returns could be superhero based, but I don’t have it in me right now.

  2. Avatar lostsalient

    I really like the tone you strike with this – I think particularly the second paragraph and the closing sentence resonate with Dickinson’s poetry. Of course, this idea is entirely more entertaining than I’ve ever found Dickinson to be…

  3. Avatar jesteram

    I can’t claim full title to all the language in the last line. I lifted Dickinson bits here and there, but I liked trying to keep the tone even enough to be indistinguishable.

  4. Avatar Spiderj

    I think this is actually better than the zombie one, which I just trundled away from. Both very clever.

    I’m semi-inspired to write a zombie-Joyce piece.

    Old Jimmy Joyce, back from the grave, still writing filth to Nora Barnacle.