Overgrowth. A flash horror story.
Their voices melted into one, then melted away. Before that they were each distinct: the soft hard dynamic voice of news anchors on BBC 1; the showy pseudo-vibrant voices that sounded like artificial fruit flavouring of soap operas; the rambunctiously deadpan voices of sitcom characters. None of these voices came without a sight, too. The wall flashed with the colours of the TV. It echoed the austere crimson and serious hues of the news, and parodied the beige multicolour of the sitcoms. Maude sat on her sofa, in front of the TV, watching it everyday and every night. She watched it when she was happy and she watched it when she was sad - although by all accounts, by now her emotions are as breathless as the wind in the jungle. It did not matter what was on TV however, Maude grinned through it all.
A fly flew about the house in an exploratory frenzy, it found a way in from a leaky crack in the wall from the floor above, lathered in damp and mould. The garden it came from could be more aptly called a forest. A tangle of spindly vines, roots, teardrop leaves and spiderwebs. It flew down the stairs, humming and buzzing like a demon. The grimy mirror reflecting its chaotic path. It smelt its way to the kitchen, coursing toward that putrid odour. It landed on a wax fruit and spat on it, sucking up the digested liquid. It tasted exceedingly bitter and so it moved on. Smelling Maude, it flew into what few greasy hair strands she had left. Another fly came along and contested it for the spot. Defeated, it flew to her collarbone, bleached with spots of yellow. It kissed it and rubbed its legs. Another fly walked into the nasal cavity and returned out of her jaw. She was a skeleton. Still dressed in the dress she wore everyday. Eaten by maggots and moths.
Her left bony hand drooped off the arm of the sofa. Her jaw hung by a single thread of ligament and muscle, about to be devoured by the flies. A figure walked up to the door of her house. Not knowing of the scenes inside. He took out some letters and posted it through the letter box and walked away. The letters fell on to a 2 year deep pile in front of the door. Completely comprised of leaflets and coupons and no messages from loved ones. The fly found that bit of muscle on her jaw and the jaw fell off. It was 4 o’clock. The news came on. Maude was watching - without any eyes.
The Story behind it:
Joyce Carol Vincent, was a 38 year old living in North London. She passed away sometime in 2003, and it is thought that it was one month after a hospital visit. The cause of death is speculated to be related to the reason behind the hospital visit. A few years prior, she had changed her behaviour cutting off most of her relatives and the people who knew her. She was discovered two years and one month after she had died, so badly decomposed, that police were required to use dental records to identify the body. She was lying on the sofa, with the TV in a corner of the room, still - after two years - tuned into BBC 1.
This is a link to an article about her and her death: https://www.urbo.com/content
Her name has been changed in this story out of respect for the dead.
