PULP ISSUE ONE

ISSUE 001

LIT MAG

SUMMER 24

PULP

EDITORS NOTE WHEN I STARTED SENDING MY WORK TO LIT MAGS, AS A KID FRESHLY OUT OF ART SCHOOL WITH A SCREENWRITING DEGREE AND THE WEIGHT OF MY BAD DECISIONS FULLY ON MY SHOULDERS, I DIDN’T REALIZE HOW MANY REJECTION LETTERS I WOULD GET, AND I GOT A LOT. LIKE, A LOT, A LOT. EVERY SINGLE ONE FELT LIKE A VINDICATION OF THAT FACT THAT I HAD CHOSEN THE WRONG CAREER. SHOULD I HAVE EVEN BEEN THE PRESIDENT OF MY COLLEGE’S SLAM POETRY CLUB FOR TWO YEARS? DOES MY DEGREE MEAN NOTHING? DID I SPEND 200,000 DOLLARS FOR A STUPID PIECE OF PAPER FOR EVERYONE TO JUST LIE TO ME? IT WASN’T UNTIL I GOT MY FIRST ACCEPTANCE, FROM A SMALL LIT MAG JUST LIKE THIS THAT I REALIZED THAT ONE, MY ANXIETY WAS BLOWING THAT WAY OUT OF PROPORTION, AND TWO, MY VOICE HELD POWER. THAT MY ART HELD POWER. AND IN STARTING THIS, I WANT TO TELL YOU THAT SO DOES YOURS. IT’S OUR JOB AS CREATIVES TO TAKE OUR TALENTS AND SPEAK OF THE INJUSTICES IN THE WORLD. IT IS OUR DUTY TO MAKE ART FOR THE PEOPLE, BY THE PEOPLE, AND TO CRUMBLE THE ELITE WHO CLENCH ONTO THE LITERARY AND ART WORLDS AND HOLD ONTO IT FOR THEMSELVES. PULP STARTED BECAUSE I WANTED TO CREATE A PLACE FOR SOMEONE LIKE ME. A PLACE FOR THOSE PEOPLE WHO NEVER THOUGHT THEY’D GET THEIR WORK INTO THE NEW YORKER OR THE ATLANTIC OR SOME OTHER POMPOUS ASS LIT MAGAZINE. LET’S BE REAL. THEY DON’T WANT WEIRD. THEY DON’T WANT REVOLUTIONARY OR QUEER OR SMUTTY. THEY WANT TAME, VANILLA ASS STUFF. THAT’S NOT WHAT I CREATE. THAT’S NOT WHAT THE PEOPLE IN THIS LIT MAG CREATE. SO AUTOMATICALLY, IT’S WRONG. IT’S BAD ART. IT’S LOW BROW, JUST LIKE THE PULP MAGAZINES OF THE FORTIES AND FIFTIES. THERE WAS ONE WAY TO MAKE ART, AND IF YOU DIDN’T DO IT EXACTLY LIKE THAT, IT WAS CONSIDERED INCORRECT. FUCK THAT SHIT. WE DO WHAT WE WANT HERE. WE PUBLISH WHAT WE WANT. WE SHOW THE WORLD THAT ART COMES IN ALL SHAPES, SIZES, AND FORMS, AND THERE IS NOTHING THAT CAN SILENCE US. WE WANT TO HIGHLIGHT THE EXPERIENCES OF THE SILENCED, OF THE PEOPLE THAT SOCIETY FORGOT.

FROM THE INDIE PRESSES, DIME NOVELS, FANZINES, DISCOUNT PAPERBACKS, AND HAND PRINTED NEWSPAPERS THAT CAME BEFORE US, WE THANK YOU FOR NEVER GIVING UP YOUR RIGHT TO SPEAK THE TRUTH, AND TO RAISE YOUR VOICE IN POWER. PULP ALSO STANDS WITH THE ONES WHO ARE NO LONGER WITH US, WHO USED THEIR VOICE TO SPEAK THE ULTIMATE TRUTH TO POWER. THE POETS AND AUTHORS AND ARTISTS AND CREATORS WHO HAVE BEEN MARTYRED IN GAZA. MAY THEIR STORIES AND FACES LIVE IN OUR MEMORIES AND IN OUR HEARTS. VIVA PALESTINE. YOU WILL SEE FREEDOM IN OUR LIFETIME. -FINNIALLA (EIC)

TABLE OF CONTENTS ✦ SWIMMING POOL GIRL - MAXINE SOPHIA WOLFF ✦ HER, Y OR N?, THE TALE OF THE BOTTLE - CLAUDIA WYSOCKY ✦ COOKING WINE - JOE MITCHELL ✦ THE GLASS PALACE CHRONICLE - BEN NARDOLILLI ✦ KILLING FIELDS - D.W BAKER ✦ EYES OF THE WORLD - ZAR FEKETE ✦ ANGEL BLOSSOMS - KARL KOWESKI ✦ ACTION CITY - NICOLA WIGGINS ✦ STARLIT STARLET, SELF-PORTRAIT AS PARASOCIAL RELATIONSHIP, SNUFF ST☆R, DEVIL I KNOW WANTS THE ANGEL I DON'T, TWINK DEATH - BEE LB ✦ GORE - PATRICK QUINN ✦ ANIMAL - MINERVA WEAVER ✦ AUSLÄNDER - R.G. VASICEK ✦ ROTTON LUCK - TOM STUCKEY ✦ AINA, BLEAK DREAMS (ARE MADE OF THIS) - CELSO ANTONIO DE ALMEIDA ✦ SONNET FOR JON - ADAM SPIEGELMAN ✦ THE TOWN THAT FADED AWAY, FIFTY - SIMON COLLINSON ✦ FUCK YOUR APATHY, I’M SO FUCKING BORED OF YOUR SIMPLE SENTENCES, THE LOVE IS DONE, THIS IS NOT A LIKE POEM THIS IS A LOVE POEM - DEVON WEBB ✦ STELLA’S STARS, LOOSE TEETH, WHO’S YOUR DADDY? - AMBER BAIRD ✦ FOX FLAVOUR, HUNGARIAN CITIZEN, LIVE MEAT - LASZLO ARANYI ✦ END ON A LOW NOTE - PATRICK WHITEHURST ✦ CANDID CAMERA - ROBERT STEWARD ✦ BUSTY OL’ SUSAN, READ THE FINE PRINT, COLD CASE: WHISKEY - SOUM

✦

(JADE

LIKES

TOBACCO)

AGONY...ECSTASY,

EVE/LILITH,

BLAIRE

-

APHRODESIA ✦ DOUBLEMINT HAIBUN, GREASY GREASY FINGERS, MANIC HAIBUN - ROBERT ALLEN ✦ WAYFARERS - PRAVASAN PILLAY ✦ MEMORIES, ASK THESE WALLS ALL THEY HAVE SEEN, CURSE, EAGLE AND THE RABBIT, IS THIS OUR MULTIVERSE? - POOJA SINGH ✦ FROM THE DEPTHS OF THE NGHT - VINCENZO DELLA MALVA ✦ A GUY NAMED OSCAR, OFFICE MEMO, LIKE CLOCKWORK 3AM, MORNING COFFEE WITH A SPLASH OF BLOOD OATH, YOUR WORKORDER HAS BEEN CREATED - KEN TOMARO ✦ NEVER QUITE REALLY, CONSIDER THE VIOLETS, CANDID REMEMBRANCE, SEPTIC, SPLINTERED - OPHELIA MONET ✦ CIGARETTE SMOKE - BRANDON SHANE ✦ MULTIFACETED, NATIONWIDE, OPERABLE - MICHAEL MORETH ✦ EXIT INTERVIEW - MARGAUX WILLIAMSON ✦ LOVING A GHOST, BECOMING A DRAGON: A FAIRY TALE, THE CROSS LASARA FIREFOX ALLEN ✦ ARACHNID-EGGPLANT ATTACK AT TACO CART DURING THE AURORA BOREALIS- CECILIA KENNEDY ✦ MILLIONS & AN INCH, I KNOW IT DOESN’T ADD UP, BUT I GOTTA ADMIT, CLASSIC EGG & CHICKEN - STEPHEN GROUND ✦ SUZIE WITH AN UZI II - DANIEL SKENTELBERY ✦ INTIMACY - ROBERT STONE ✦ WELCOME TO MY HAUNTED BROTHEL - RIAH HOPKINS ✦ THE TRUTH SEEKERS - GENEVIÈVE LAPRISE

CONTRIBUTOR BIOS

MAXINE SOPHIA WOLFF (SHE/HER) IS A WRITER WHOSE WORK HAS APPEARED BEFORE IN FUSION FRAGMENT, SEIZE THE PRESS AND OTHER SEMI-PRO MAGAZINES. SHE IS ALSO A VIDEO GAME DEVELOPER. CLAUDIA WYSOCKY, (SHE/HER) A POLISH WRITER AND POET BASED IN NEW YORK, IS KNOWN FOR HER DIVERSE LITERARY CREATIONS, INCLUDING FICTION AND POETRY. HER POEMS, SUCH AS "STARGAZING LOVE" AND "HEAVEN AND HELL," REFLECT HER ABILITY TO CAPTURE THE BEAUTY OF LIFE THROUGH RICH DESCRIPTIONS. BESIDES POETRY, SHE AUTHORED "ALL UP IN SMOKE," PUBLISHED BY "ANXIETY PRESS." WITH OVER FIVE YEARS OF WRITING EXPERIENCE, CLAUDIA'S WORK HAS BEEN FEATURED IN LOCAL NEWSPAPERS, MAGAZINES, AND EVEN LITERARY JOURNALS LIKE WORDCITYLIT AND LOTHLORIEN POETRY JOURNAL. HER WRITING IS POWERED

BY HER BELIEF IN ART'S POTENTIAL TO INSPIRE POSITIVE CHANGE. CLAUDIA ALSO SHARES HER PERSONAL JOURNEY AND LOVE FOR WRITING ON HER OWN BLOG, AND SHE EXPRESSES HER LITERARY TALENT AS AN IMMIGRANT RAISED IN POST-COMMUNISM POLAND. JOE MITCHELL (HE/HIM) IS A WRITER AND SOCIAL WORKER FROM MOUNT PEARL, NEWFOUNDLAND, CANADA. HE HAS PUBLISHED SHORT STORIES ONLINE AND IN PRINT. HE IS CURRENTLY

WORKING

ON

A

COLLECTION

OF

SHORT

FICTION

WITH

THEMES

OF

HOMELESSNESS, POVERTY, ADDICTION AND MENTAL HEALTH. BEN NARDOLILLI (HE/HIM) IS A THEORETICAL MFA CANDIDATE AT LONG ISLAND UNIVERSITY. HIS WORK HAS APPEARED IN PERIGEE MAGAZINE, DOOR IS A JAR, THE DELMARVA REVIEW, RED FEZ, THE OKLAHOMA REVIEW, QUAIL BELL MAGAZINE, AND SLAB. FOLLOW HIS PUBLISHING JOURNEY AT MIRRORSPONGE.BLOGSPOT.COM. D.W. BAKER (HE/HIM) IS A SUBMERGING POET FROM ST. PETERSBURG, FLORIDA, WHERE HE WRITES ABOUT PLACE, BODIES, BELONGING, AND THE END OF THE WORLD. HIS WORK APPEARS IN VOIDSPACE ZINE, IDENTITY THEORY, SOFT STAR MAGAZINE, AND THE MINISON PROJECT, AMONG OTHERS, AND HAS BEEN NOMINATED FOR BEST OF THE NET. HE SERVES ON THE MASTHEADS OF DIVINATIONS MAGAZINE, COSMIC DAFFODIL, AND HEARTH & COFFIN. SEE MORE OF HIS WORK AT WWW.DWBAKERPOETRY.COM KARL KOWESKI (HE/HIM) IS A DISPLACED REGION RAT NOW LIVING ATOP A MOUNTAIN IN RURAL ALABAMA. HIS LATEST COLLECTION, ABANDONED BY ALL THINGS, IS AVAILABLE FROM ROADSIDE PRESS.

ZARY FEKETE (HE/HIM) GREW UP IN HUNGARY. HE HAS A DEBUT NOVELLA (WORDS ON THE PAGE) OUT WITH DARKWINTER LIT PRESS IN ADDITION TO TWO SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS LATER IN 2024. HE ENJOYS BOOKS, PODCASTS, AND MANY MANY MANY FILMS. TWITTER AND INSTAGRAM: @ZARYFEKETE NICOLA (SHE/HER) IS AN ACCOUNTANT AND WRITER, WITH PIECES PUBLISHED ONLINE AND IN PRINT BY FUNNY PEARLS, PULP FICTIONAL, GLYPH LIT, SOPHON LIT, TANGLED WEB, HUFFINGTON POST, AND ELSEWHERE. IN 2022 SHE WAS SHORTLISTED FOR ANTHOLOGY MAGAZINE'S SHORT STORY AWARD AND WAS LONGLISTED IN 2023 BY THE PARRACOMBE PRIZE, THE LETTER REVIEW PRIZE, AND OTHERS. SHE WAS RAISED IN NORTH WALES, BUT NOW LIVES IN RURAL HERTFORDSHIRE, UK. SHE WRITES BETWEEN PLEAS FOR FOOD AND/OR AFFECTION FROM BOTH HUMAN AND NON-HUMAN DEPENDANTS. BEE LB (THEY/THEM) IS THE FACSIMILE OF A LIVING POET; A PORCELAIN PIERROT WITH A PAINTED FACE. THEY COLLECT CHAMPAGNE BOTTLES, PORTRAITS OF STRANGE WOMEN, AND DIAGNOSES. THEY'VE BEEN PUBLISHED IN G*MOB, MOODY, LANDFILL, AND THE RACKET, AMONG OTHERS. THEIR PORTFOLIO CAN BE FOUND AT TWINBRIGHTS.CARRD.CO PATRICK QUINN (HE/HIM) IS A NINETEEN YEAR OLD SHORT FICTION WRITER BASED IN LATROBE, PENNSYLVANIA. HE IS CURRENTLY ATTENDING OHIO UNIVERSITY TO FOLLOW A CAREER PATH IN AUDIO, BUT HAD ALWAYS BELIEVED IN THE POWER OF STORYTELLING. HIS FICTION HAS APPEARED IN BARDICS ANONYMOUS. MINERVA WEAVER (SHE/HER) IS A VERY NEW 19 YEAR OLD TRANS WRITER FROM APPALACHIA - SHE LIVES IN A WATERY CAVE IN SAN DIEGO WHERE SHE PRIMARILY LIVES OFF FISH SCRAPS AND MILLIPEDES. SHE HAS BEEN PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED IN HYPHEN PUNK MAGAZINE, AND SHE'S WORKING ON MORE SO LEAVE HER ALONE! R.G. VASICEK IS A LO-FI NOVELIST & MACHINE ELF IN NYC. HIS LATEST PROJECT IS AUGENBLICK, A COLLABORATION WITH KENJI SIRATORI. TOM IS A POET FROM DEVON IN THE UK AND HAS BEEN PUBLISHED IN PUNK NOIR, BRISTOL NOIR AND A THIN SLICE OF ANXIETY.

CELSO ANTONIO DE ALMEIDA (HE/HIM) IS A JOURNALIST, ENGLISH TEACHER AND LITERARY TRANSLATOR FOR FAME AND MONEY. HE IS 20 YEARS OLD, WITH 30 YEARS OF EXPERIENCE. CELSO LIVES IN THE SMALL TOWN OF GUAREÍ, IN THE INTERIOR OF THE STATE OF SÃO PAULO (BRAZIL), WITH HIS WIFE TATIANA, CHILDREN BEATRICE AND DAVI AND DOGS TECA AND NINA. ADAM SPIEGELMAN (HE/HIM) IS A NY BASED WRITER. HIS WORK HAS APPEARED IN THE EVERGREEN REVIEW, ADROIT JOURNAL, AND GRAND JOURNAL, AMONG OTHERS. SIMON (HE/HIM) IS A WRITER FROM ENGLAND. HE ENJOYS SOLITUDE AND DECAY. DEVON WEBB (SHE/HER) IS A GEN Z WRITER & EDITOR BASED IN AOTEAROA NEW ZEALAND. HER AWARD-WINNING WORK HAS BEEN PUBLISHED EXTENSIVELY WORLDWIDE & REVOLVES AROUND THEMES OF FEMININITY, VULNERABILITY, ANTI-CAPITALISM & NEURODIVERGENCE. SHE IS AN IN-HOUSE WRITER FOR ERATO MAGAZINE, AN EDITOR FOR PRISMATICA PRESS, & A FOUNDING MEMBER OF THE CIRCUS (@CIRCUSLIT), A COLLECTIVE PRIORITISING RADICAL INCLUSIVITY WITHIN THE INDIE LIT SCENE. SHE CAN BE FOUND ON INSTAGRAM, TWITTER, TIKTOK & BLUESKY AT @DEVONWEBBNZ. AMBER BAIRD (SHE/THEY) WORKS AND WRITES IN PORTLAND, OREGON, WHERE SHE LIVES WITH TWO CATS, A WIFE, AND MANY ANXIETIES. PREVIOUS FICTION HAS APPEARED IN SENSITIVE SKIN MAGAZINE, HAWAI’I PACIFIC REVIEW, AND GRIM AND GILDED. SHE IS CURRENTLY WORKING ON A NOVEL. FIND THEM ON MOST OF THE APPS @AMBERBAIRDPDX OR READBAIRD.COM. LASZLO ARANYI (FRATER AZMON) (HE/HIM) IS A POET, ANARCHIST, OCCULTIST FROM HUNGARY. EARLIER BOOKS: „(SZELLEM)VÁLASZOK”, „A NAP ÉS HOLDERŐK EGYENSÚLYA”, „KITERÍTETT RÓKABŐR” HIS POEMS IN ENGLISH HAVE APPEARED IN OVER A HUNDRED JOURNALS. NEW BOOK ABOUT TO BE PUBLISHED, "DELIRIUM &...THE SEVEN HAIKU" (PUBLISHED

BY DEAD MAN'S PRESS INK ALBANY, NY 2023). HE HAS BEEN NOMINATED SEVERAL TIMES FOR INTERNATIONAL AWARDS. KNOWN SPIRITUALIST MEDIUMS, ART AND EXPLORES THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN MAGIC. I AM MARGINALISED IN MY OWN COUNTRY! ROBERT ALLEN LIVES IN OAKLAND, CA WITH HIS FAMILY WHERE HE WRITES POEMS, AND COACHES POETS TO BE BETTER IN THEIR CRAFT.

PATRICK WHITEHURST'S STORIES HAVE BEEN FEATURED IN THE ANTHOLOGIES SHOTGUN HONEY PRESENTS: RECOIL, TROUBLE IN TUCSON, AND ELSEWHERE. HIS CRIME FICTION WITH A HORROR EDGE HAS BEEN PUBLISHED ALL OVER, INCLUDING BRISTOL NOIR, MYSTERY TRIBUNE, PUNK NOIR, GUILTY CRIME MAGAZINE FLASH, AND SHOTGUN HONEY. HE CURRENTLY LIVES IN TUCSON, ARIZONA, WITH HIS SIGNIFICANT OTHER AND FOUR DOGS. FIND HIM ONLINE AT PATRICKWHITEHURST.COM. (HE/HIM) ROBERT STEWARD (HE/HIM) TEACHES ENGLISH AS A FOREIGN LANGUAGE AND LIVES IN LONDON. HIS STORIES HAVE APPEARED IN SCRITTURA, LITERALLY STORIES, ACROSS THE MARGIN, THE OGILVIE, THE DOOR IS A JAR AND OTHERS. YOU CAN FIND THEM AT: TWITTER.COM/THEROADTONAPLES SOUM (THEY/THEM) IS AN ACRONYM FOR SCREAMS OF UNFETTERED MINDS, A COLLECTIVE OF 3 WOMEN WRITING TOGETHER UNDER THE CLOUD OF PREFERRED ANONYMITY. THEIR WRITING STYLE LEANS TOWARDS THE UNPOLISHED, UNFILTERED, CHEEKY BUT ALWAYS HEARTFELT. THEY CHAMPION MENTAL AND SOCIAL ISSUES. APHRODESIA (THEY/THEM) IS A QUEER ARTIST FROM THE SOUTHERN US. LOVER OF SHELLS, ICICLES, & CONFUSING FLAVORS, MEADOWS & LONG HIKES, THEY ARE OFTEN CALLED A FORMLESS BEING, ETERNAL, CRAVING JUST THE SMALLEST TASTE OF YOUR SOUL. YOU CAN FIND THEIR WORKS SCATTERED IN THE WINDS. POOJA SINGH (SHE/HER) IS A POET BASED IN DELHI, INDIA, AND A SOFTWARE DEVELOPER BY PROFESSION. AUTHOR OF THE DEBUT COLLECTION 'UNTIL THE COLD IS GENTLE'.

PRAVASAN PILLAY (HE/HIM) IS A SOUTH AFRICAN WRITER WHO NOW LIVES IN SWEDEN. HE HAS PUBLISHED TWO POETRY CHAPBOOKS, GLUMLAZI (2009) AND 30 POEMS (2015), AS WELL AS A COLLECTION OF CO-WRITTEN COMEDIC SHORT STORIES, SHAGGY (2013).

HIS SHORT STORY COLLECTION CHATSWORTH WAS PUBLISHED IN 2018, AND WAS TRANSLATED INTO SWEDISH IN 2020. HIS LATEST PUBLICATION IS A CHAPBOOK OF HORROR SHORT STORIES, AIYO! (2023).

VIN (HE/HIM) LIKES TO WRITE AND LISTEN TO MUSIC. HE'S GOT A SUBSTACK WITH NOTHING TO READ ON IT.

NEVER UNTIL RECENTLY DID HE CONSIDER WRITING POETRY. NOT WHEN HE SLID FROM THE WOMB. NOT WHEN HE FELT THE FIRST TINGLE OF TEEN HORMONES. NOT AFTER HE GOT MARRIED, DIVORCED, MOVED TO ANOTHER CITY, LOST A COUPLE JOBS, MOVED BACK. IT JUST SORT OF HAPPENED. KEN TOMARO, SELF-PROCLAIMED POET LAUREATE OF THE CLEVELAND SEWER SYSTEM, HAS BEEN WRITING POETRY FOR A FEW SHORT YEARS. HE’S NOT FAMOUS, RICH, RECOGNIZED OR READ IN SCHOOLS ACROSS AMERICA. HE HAS BEEN PUBLISHED IN SEVERAL LITERARY JOURNALS, DONE A COUPLE PODCASTS, STARTED THE YOUTUBE CHANNEL, SCREAMING DOWN THE POETIC HIGHWAY, AND THAT’S PRETTY DAMN IMPRESSIVE. (HE/HIM) OPHELIA (SHE/HER) IS AN EDUCATOR, MOTHER, AND STORM CHASER (YES, REALLY), LIVING IN FORT WRIGHT, KENTUCKY WITH HER HUSBAND AND THEIR SON. SHE BEGAN WRITING IN 2022, AFTER LEARNING THAT HER LATE MOTHER WAS A PUBLISHED WRITER UNDER A PSEUDONYM. HER WORK HAS APPEARED OR IS FORTHCOMING IN BEYOND WORDS LITERARY MAGAZINE, UNLEASH LIT, LOUD COFFEE PRESS, BLUE LAKE REVIEW, AND MORE. SHE CAN BE FOUND ON INSTAGRAM AT @MYSOULLAIDBARE. BRANDON SHANE (HE/HIM) IS A POET, BORN IN YOKOSUKA JAPAN. YOU CAN SEE HIS WORK IN THE BERLIN LITERARY REVIEW, ACROPOLIS JOURNAL, GRIM & GILDED, SOPHON LIT, MARBLED SIGH, RIC JOURNAL, HEIMAT REVIEW, INK IN THIRDS, DARK WINTER LIT, AMONG OTHERS. HE WOULD LATER GRADUATE FROM CAL STATE LONG BEACH. MICHAEL MORETH (HE/HIM) IS A RECOVERING CHICAGOAN LIVING IN THE RURAL, MICROPOLITAN CITY OF STERLING, THE PARIS OF NORTHWEST ILLINOIS. MARGAUX WILLIAMSON (SHE/THEY) IS A BLACK, QUEER READER, WRITER, AND LEGAL ASSOCIATE WHO WORKS IN ADVERTISING. SHE LIVES IN THE MIDWEST WITH HER WIFE. CECILIA KENNEDY (SHE/HER) IS A WRITER WHO TAUGHT ENGLISH AND SPANISH IN OHIO FOR 20 YEARS BEFORE MOVING TO WASHINGTON STATE WITH HER FAMILY. SINCE 2017, SHE HAS PUBLISHED STORIES IN INTERNATIONAL LITERARY MAGAZINES AND ANTHOLOGIES. YOU CAN FOLLOW HER ON X (@CKENNEDYHOLA). INSTAGRAM: CECILIAKENNEDY2349 STEPHEN GROUND (HE/THEY) IS A WRITER AND FILMMAKER BASED IN TREATY ONE TERRITORY (WINNIPEG, MANITOBA)

LASARA FIREFOX ALLEN, MSW, (THEY/THEM/MX) IS THE AUTHOR OF JAILBREAKING THE GODDESS AND SEXY WITCH, AS WELL AS CHAPBOOKS THE PUSSY POEMS AND, AS CONTRIBUTOR AND EDITOR, DISJOINTED. CURRENTLY ENJOYING WRITING MICRO MEMOIR IN ADDITION TO THEIR MORE ESTABLISHED NONFICTION GENRE, THEIR WORK HAS BEEN PUBLISHED RECENTLY AT SLEDGEHAMMER LIT, LITERARYKITCHEN.NET, SPOOKY GAZE, TANGLED LOCKS JOURNAL, MOUNTAIN BLUEBIRD MAGAZINE AND THE GUILT SCAR ZINE. LASARA IS A WITCH, A NONPROFIT EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR, A MENOPAUSE AND LIFE COACH, AND A COCONSPIRATOR FOR OUR COLLECTIVE LIBERATION. YOU CAN SUBSCRIBE TO THEIR SUBSTACK AT:

WWW.SUBSTACK.COM/LASARAFIREFOXALLEN,

OR

LEARN

MORE

AT:

WWW.LINKTR.EE/LASARAFIREFOXALLEN. DANIEL SKENTELBERY (HE/HIM) IS A WRITER, ARTIST, AND RESEARCHER. HE HAS A PHD IN MEDIA, COMMUNICATIONS AND CULTURE FROM KEELE UNIVERSITY. HIS FIRST POETRY COLLECTION MISS PEACOCK AND THE ACTRESS WAS PUBLISHED IN 2022 BY WRITTEN OFF PUBLISHING. DANIEL ENJOYS PAINTING RABBITS, THE MUSIC OF DODIE, AND CORNY HORROR MOVIES. ROBERT STONE (HE/HIM) WAS BORN IN WOLVERHAMPTON, UK. HE WORKS IN A PRESS CUTTINGS AGENCY IN LONDON. BEFORE THAT HE WAS A TEACHER AND THEN FOREMAN OF A LONDON UNDERGROUND STATION. HE HAS TWO CHILDREN AND LIVES WITH HIS PARTNER IN IPSWICH. HE HAS HAD STORIES PUBLISHED IN STAND, PANURGE, 3:AM, THE WRITE LAUNCH, ECLECTICA, CONFINGO, HERE COMES EVERYONE, BOOK OF MATCHES, PUNT VOLAT, THE DECADENT REVIEW, THE CABINET OF HEED, HEIRLOCK, THE MAIN STREET RAG, THE CLACKAMAS LITERARY REVIEW, THE PEARL RIVER QUARTERLY, ANGEL RUST, LUNATE, BLUE STEM AND WRAPAROUND SOUTH. HE HAS HAD THREE STORIES PUBLISHED IN NICHOLAS ROYLE’S NIGHTJAR CHAPBOOK SERIES. MICRO STORIES HAVE BEEN PUBLISHED BY SLEDGEHAMMER, THIRD WEDNESDAY, PALM-SIZED PRESS, 5X5, STAR 82, THE OCOTILLO REVIEW, DEATHCAP, THE WESTCHESTER REVIEW AND CLOVER & WHITE. A STORY APPEARED IN SALT’S BEST BRITISH STORIES 2020 VOLUME. HE TWEETS MOSTLY ABOUT STORIES HERE; @ROBERTJSTONE2 WEBSITE: HTTPS://ROBERTJSTONE.WEEBLY.COM/ EMAIL: ROBERTJSTONEXXX@GMAIL.COM RIAH HOPKINS (SHE/HER) IS A NEW ENGLAND TRANSPLANT TO THE MIDWEST. SHE IS ONE OF THE FOUNDING EDITORS OF BROKEN ANTLER, AN ONLINE HORROR MAGAZINE DEDICATED TO ALL THINGS WEIRD AND ABSURD. SHE LIVES IN SIOUX FALLS WITH AN EVIL BUNNY NAMED OTTO.

GENEVIÈVE (SHE/HER) IS A CANADIAN WRITER AND MOTHER OF THREE. WHEN SHE ISN'T WRITING SHORT STORIES, SHE IS WORKING ON HER NOVEL, EDITING, OR PLAYING WITH HER CHILDREN. HER PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED TITLES INCLUDE OSPARAMA, IN THE DARK, AND WARHAMMER FANFICTION. SHE ALSO LIKES TO SPEND TIME HELPING NEW AUTHORS IN THEIR WRITING JOURNEY.

PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED 'THIS IS NOT A LIKE POEM IT'S A LOVE POEM' WAS PUBLISHED IN MOONBOW MAGAZINE GORE WILL BE FORTHCOMING IN A SELF PUBLISHED STORY COLLECTION ANGEL BLOSSOMS WAS PUBLISHED ON THE POVERTY HOUSE WRITER'S WEBSITE.

SWIMMING POOL GIRL TW: MURDER

IT’S AGAINST THE RULES, BUT I KISS HIM ANYWAY. I DO IT BECAUSE I WANT TO. BECAUSE THE AIR FROM THE CRACKED WINDOW FEELS GOOD, AND BECAUSE HIS FACE LOOKS SWEET IN THE DASHBOARD LIGHT. HE MAKES LITTLE NOISES WHEN WE PRESS OUR LIPS TOGETHER, HIS BREATHS MELTING INTO PANTS, SWEAT WREATHING HIS SHOULDER BLADES. THEN I LEAN DEEPER IN, TASTING HIS WARMTH, SMELLING HIM. I REALIZE THAT HE IS EXTRAORDINARILY FRAGILE. IF I WANTED TO, I COULD PROBABLY SNAP HIM IN HALF. OUTSIDE THE CAR, CICADAS CHIRP A FRANTIC SONG. IT’S AGAINST THE RULES, I KNOW, BUT I LIKE HIM. [YOU CANNOT LIKE HIM. YOU ARE NOT REAL.] (I KNOW. SHUT UP.) I KISS HIM HARDER, MAYBE OUT OF SPITE, AND SLIDE MY HAND UP HIS THIGH. HE MOANS AGAIN, WHICH MAKES MY STOMACH PITCH. I REALIZE HE’S NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE. [STOP THIS. START THE CAR.] (SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP.) OUR LIPS BREAK AWAY FROM EACH OTHER, BUT THEN I’M AT HIS NECK. HE GROANS SOMETHING UNDER HIS BREATH, WHO KNOWS, I’M NOT LISTENING ANYMORE. [YOU ARE NOT REAL. YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED THIS.] I WRENCH MYSELF AWAY. ZEKE LOOKS INTOXICATED, WIPING SALIVA FROM HIS MOUTH. “WOW…” HE PANTS. “WAS THAT… OKAY?” GOD, HE’S THE CUTEST THING EVER. “YES.” I TELL HIM. “YES, YES IT WAS OKAY.” “COOL.” HE SPEAKS WITH SUCH IMPOSSIBLE INNOCENCE. IT MAKES MY THROAT BURN. [YOU KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO.] (YES, I KNOW. YOU WIN. FUCK YOU.) THE RADIO BLARES A DEAD CHANNEL, BLEEDING STATIC THROUGH THE CAR. “CAN I TAKE YOU SOMEWHERE?” I ASK. “THERE’S THIS GOOD SPOT I KNOW.”

THE IDEA MAKES ZEKE SMILE. “WHERE?” “IT’S AN OLD SWIMMING POOL.” THE WORDS ARE LIKE CHALK IN MY THROAT. “ABANDONED. NICE AND PRIVATE PLACE FOR US.” HIS FACE GOES SO RED THAT I SWEAR A SINGLE PRICK WOULD BLEED HIM OUT. BUT HE SAYS YES, BECAUSE OF COURSE HE DOES. I’M GOOD AT THIS. I KNOW WHAT I’M DOING. *** “OKAY. TRUTH OR DARE.” “DARE.” JESSICA SMIRKS, LIP-GLOSSED LIPS GLIMMERING IN THE LIGHT OF THE OVERHEAD LAMP, WHICH SPUTTERED FROM A LOOSE CORD. “I DARE YOU TO SHOW ME YOUR TITS!” “FUCK OFF, MICHAEL!” “YEAH, NOT COOL, MICHAEL.” “GOD, I WAS JOKING. JESUS.” MICHAEL MAKES A FACE WHILE JESSICA, GRINNING LIKE A JACKAL JUST FED, TURNS HER EYES TO ME. “HOW ABOUT YOU, SARAH? PICK A DARE FOR ME.” SARAH. FOR A MOMENT I ALMOST FORGET TO RESPOND TO THAT NAME. I PUT ON A STAMMER, PRETENDING TO FUMBLE. “I DON’T KNOW, SHOTGUN THAT BEER?” JESSICA SMILES. “FUCK YES.” SHE DOESN’T ACTUALLY SHOTGUN IT, SHE JUST POPS THE TOP AND CHUGS. NO ONE POINTS OUT THAT SHE DID IT WRONG. “OKAY. YOUR TURN NOW. TRUTH OR DARE.” “TRUTH.” “OKAY, NEW GIRL. TRUTH. ARE YOU A VIRGIN?” ZEKE’S FACE DROPS. “COME ON JESS, SHE’S SHY. DON’T ASK HER STUFF LIKE THAT.”

IF I WERE REAL, THIS WOULD TOTALLY MAKE ME BLUSH. IF I WERE REAL, I WOULD CAST MY GAZE TO THE FLOOR, RED-FACED AND STAMMERING. BUT I AM NOT REAL, AND I’M NOT ALLOWED THINGS LIKE THAT. SO, I PUT ON A GOOD SHOW. I’M GOOD AT THIS. “Y-YES.” I STAMMER, WITH THE PERFECTED INTONATIONS OF AN ANXIOUS TEEN SHARING THE MOST VULNERABLE PART OF HERSELF. I’VE GOT THEM HOOKED. JESSICA CRAWLS TOWARDS ME, PARTING THE THICK CARPET, AND MAKES A FACE LIKE OH YOU ARE JUST SO CUTE. SHE EVEN PINCHES MY CHEEK. *** THE ENGINE GURGLES TO LIFE AS I TWIST THE KEYS INTO THE IGNITION AND PULL THE CAR BACK ONTO THE ROAD. WE DRIVE FOR MILES, UNTIL THE SUBURBS SPRAWL INTO FARMLAND, AND THE SKY STRETCHES THIN BENEATH A BLANKET OF STARS. I PARK IN THE LOT BY THE POOL, AND WE WALK TO THE FENCE WITH BARE FEET. ZEKE TOSSES HIS SKATEBOARD OVER AND THEN HELPS ME OVER. HE’S A SWEET BOY. [THERE IS NO SUCH THING].

ZEKE ASKS IF I WANT TO WATCH HIM SHOW ME SOME TRICKS ON HIS SKATEBOARD. I SAY OF COURSE. I’M TRYING TO BE NICE. [YOU ARE NOT BEING NICE.] HE ENDS UP KICKING OFF BAD AND TAKING A FALL. BUT HE SENDS A THUMB SKYWARD FROM HIS CRUMPLED BODY AND THEN LIMPS BACK TO ME, GRINNING. “PRETTY COOL, HUH?” “VERY COOL.” SUDDENLY I BECOME VERY AWARE THAT ZEKE IS GOOD LOOKING. I HATE THAT MY HEART STARTS BEATING FASTER WHEN HE SITS DOWN BESIDE ME. “NEXT TIME YOU’LL HAVE TO TEACH ME HOW TO RIDE THAT.” THIS MAKES HIM SMILE. HE LOOKS DRUNK. “THAT SOUNDS AWESOME.” THE CONVERSATION STALLS FOR A MOMENT. HE’S SITTING VERY CLOSE TO ME. OUR SHOULDERS BRUSH AGAINST EACH OTHER. “I BROUGHT BEER, IF YOU WANT SOME.” HE OFFERS.

“THAT’S OKAY.” “NO WORRIES. THEN I WON’T DRINK EITHER.” LIKE I SAID, SWEET. HE SMILES. HE STRETCHES—AND THE TIPS OF HIS FINGERS GRAZE MY THIGH. “OH—” HE STAMMERS, “I’M SORRY, I DIDN’T MEAN TO.” “I DON’T MIND,” HE BLUSHES. HE TURNS HIS BODY TOWARDS ME. “IS THIS OKAY?” HE ASKS. “YES.” I SAY. HIS HANDS ARE ON MY SHOULDERS. HIS THROAT IS QUIVERING. I LIKE HIM, I REALIZE. SHIT. I KISS HIM—SOFTLY AT FIRST, AND THEN DEEPER, MORE FORCEFUL. HE PULLS AWAY. “SORR—SORRY. I’VE JUST NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE.” “WE KISSED IN THE CAR.” HE BLUSHES. TOO EASY. “I MEANT… ANYTHING MORE THAN THAT.” “THAT’S OKAY.” I SAY, AND I MEAN IT. I REALLY DO. *** “ZEKE?” JESSICA YELPS, WHIPPING AROUND LIKE A SLINGSHOT. “ZEKE, IT’S YOUR TURN! TRUTH OR DARE?” ZEKE BLUSHES. HE SMILES AND SAYS SOMETHING BASHFUL. I GET A GLIMPSE OF HIS TEETH, WHICH ARE A LITTLE CROOKED AND ATTRACTIVE. “TRUTH.” HE SAYS, DRIPPING WITH MANUFACTURED CONFIDENCE. JESSICA COMES FORWARD AGAIN, DRUNK. HER LIPS PART, REVEALING TEETH, AND THEN SHE RUNS HER THIN TONGUE ALONG THEIR PRISTINE EDGES. SHE’S LIKE A LIZARD, SNAKING ALONG THE FLOOR. “WHO DO YOU LIIIIIIIIIKE?”

HER VOICE RATTLES THROUGH THE AIR, A SING-SONG TAUNT. ZEKE BLUSHES EVEN MORE. I’M STARTING TO GET THE IMPRESSION HE’LL NEVER STOP GETTING REDDER. HE BLURTS OUT HIS ANSWER SO SUDDENLY—SO CASUALLY!—THAT IT TAKES ME A SECOND TO PROCESS IT. SARAH. IT’S ALMOST TOO EASY. [STOP. FOCUS.] ZEKE IS ON THE COUCH OPPOSITE ME, TWO AND A HALF BEERS DOWN, LOOKING LIKE A SALMON ON ICE. INSTINCTIVELY—IN THE FASHION I WAS TRAINED—MY LIPS SLIDE INTO THE POSITION OF A WELL- PRACTICED AND INNOCENT GRIN. MY EYELASHES FLUTTER, AND THEN I GO THROUGH THE USUAL STEPS. A NERVOUS GLANCE AT THE FLOOR, DOE EYES AT ZEKE. [HE DOESN’T HAVE A NAME.] DOE EYES AT THE BOY. AN EMBARRASSED BUT THANKFUL NOISE AT JESSICA. BACK AT THE BOY NOW. I FEEL BAD FOR DOING THIS, BUT I FORCE THAT FEELING DOWN BECAUSE I AM GOOD AT THIS, AND HE IS JUST LIKE THE REST. I LOOK AWAY AT THE PERFECT ANGLE, THE PERFECT PACE, AND WITH WORDS THAT COME AS EASY AS FLEXING A MUSCLE, I STEAL HIS ATTENTION FOREVER. “I… LIKE YOU TOO.” WHEN I SLIDE NEXT TO HIM LATER, I ASK IF HE WANTS TO GO FOR A DRIVE. MY CAR IS PARKED OUT BACK, I EXPLAIN, WHICH GETS HIM REALLY EXCITED. I HAVEN’T EVEN HAD ANY DRINKS TONIGHT. HE SAYS YES. OF COURSE, HE SAYS YES. I’VE BEEN THROUGH A HUNDRED BOYS JUST LIKE HIM, AND EVERY SINGLE ONE ALWAYS SAYS YES. *** IN FRONT OF US, THE SUNSET BURNS THE TREE LINE ORANGE, CASTING SCATTERED SHADOWS ACROSS THE EMPTY POOL. I KNOW THAT BENEATH THIS CEMENT, NO WORMS WANDER HAPPILY THROUGH THE SOIL, AND NO ROOTS FIND PURCHASE TO GROW. ZEKE CAN’T SEE IT, BUT I CAN. “I LIKE YOU, ZEKE.” I SAY, SPEAKING THE WORDS AS AN ACT OF PRIVATE, FRUITLESS DEFIANCE. “I LIKE YOU TOO, SARAH.

SARAH. ZEKE SHUFFLES HIS BODY TOWARDS ME, SHIFTING HIS KNEES UP. HE’S WORKING UP THE COURAGE TO DO SOMETHING, BUT I BEAT HIM TO IT. WITH MY BEST, MOST REASSURING SMILE, I LEAN IN AND KISS HIM. IT LASTS FOR A SINGLE, JOYFUL MOMENT, AND THEN I PULL MY LIPS AWAY. “I’M SORRY.” I WHISPER. HE LOOKS AT ME CONFUSED. HE TRIES TO SAY SOMETHING, BUT HE CAN’T. HE IS FROZEN IN PLACE. HIS EYES GO WIDE, AND HE’S SUDDENLY TREMBLING. BUT IT’S TOO LATE. THE POOL HAS ALREADY BEGUN TO FILL. FROM THE STARS ABOVE US, STRINGS OF BLACK LIQUIDS SLIP DOWN AND COLLECT AT THE CENTER OF THE CEMENT BASIN. IT’S UP TO OUR ANKLES WITHIN SECONDS, AND ZEKE IS TRYING TO SPEAK. “W-W-WHAT…” HE MANAGES, HIS FACE STRAINED AND BURSTING. “W-WHAT’S HHAPPENING?” I OFFER HIM NO COMFORT. I CAN’T BEAR TO. FROM THE CENTER OF THIS OTHERWORLDLY SPRING, A FIGURE RISES, CLIMBING UPWARD, SHAKING WATER FROM ITS SHIMMERING NECK. MY MENTOR AND MOTHER, HER FIGURE PEELED OF SKIN, HER LIMBS BENT AND CROOKED, LIKE SPEARS. [I’LL DEAL WITH YOU, LATER.] SHE WHISPERS AS SHE PASSES ME, LIPLESS MOUTH UNMOVING. THEN SHE CLAMBERS OVER TOWARDS ZEKE, WHO TRIES HIS BEST TO SCREAM, AND PINS HIM TO THE CONCRETE FLOOR; ONE BLADED FOOT FOR EACH LIMB. ZEKE FINDS HIS VOICE QUICKLY. HE SHRIEKS NONSENSE, BABBLING, TRYING TO WRESTLE FREE. BUT MY MOTHER IS THERE, CRANING HER NECK UP TO THE SKY, SPEAKING THE LANGUAGE SHE HAS NOT YET TAUGHT ME. THE WATER OVERFLOWS THE EDGES OF THE POOL, DROWNING OUT THE LANDSCAPE, HORIZON, AND SKY. STREAMS OF BUBBLES SPIT FROM ZEKE’S MOUTH. AND THEN I WAKE UP, COUGHING WATER FROM MY LUNGS. ZEKE IS GONE. THE WOMAN IS GONE. THE POOL IS EMPTY, NOT A SINGLE DROP LEFT. [GOOD JOB.] I HEAR HER TELL ME. GOOD JOB. I DID A GOOD JOB. SORRY, ZEKE. ***

“OH, FUCK ME.” THE BOY MOANS. I DON’T KNOW HIS NAME. HE’S A STUPID BOY, LIKE ALL OF THEM, SMELLING OF DEODORANT AND PHEROMONES. IT’S A SICKLY SCENT, AND I HATE HIM. “YOU’RE SO FUCKING HOT.” I PURR. IT’S BEEN MONTHS SINCE ZEKE, AND I’VE BLAZED A PATH HALFWAY ACROSS THE STATE. SOMETIMES SARAH, SOMETIMES JESSICA, SOMETIMES OTHER NAMES. I’VE GOT THIS PERFECTED. MY MOTHER WITHOUT SKIN WHISPERS I’M HER FAVORITE. SHE PROMISED TO TEACH ME HER TONGUE–AND SOMETIMES, SOMETIMES SHE EVEN CALLS ME CHILD. THIS BOY KISSES ME, AND I LET HIM. I FEEL NOTHING. THERE IS NOTHING INSIDE OF ME WHEN I TAKE HIM TO THE POOL, AND THERE IS NOTHING INSIDE OF ME WHEN I WATCH HIM SCREAM, PIERCED AND IMMOBILE. THERE IS NOTHING INSIDE OF ME AT ALL. [YOU ARE NOT REAL.] I RETREAT TO THE PARKING LOT AND TURN MY ENGINE OVER. I DON’T BOTHER WITH A RESPONSE. INSTEAD, I JUST PULL THE SEDAN OUT ONTO THE ROAD, ROLL DOWN THE WINDOWS, AND START DRIVING. IT’S A NICE NIGHT. THE COOL EVENING AIR BLOWS IN FROM OUTSIDE, AND THE DIM GLOW FROM THE DASHBOARD REMINDS ME OF SOMETHING I MISSED FROM BEING REAL. [YOU WERE NEVER REAL.] YEAH, I KNOW. BUT SOMETIMES IT’S NICE TO PRETEND.

HER ALL THESE LINES. ALL THESE WORDS. ALL THESE THOUGHTS, SCRIBBLED ACROSS PAPER FOR A GIRL I DO NOT SEE. (NOT KNOW.) SCRIBBLED IN INK, STAINING THE PAPER. STAINING MY SOUL. …BUT SHE IS— SHE IS BEAUTIFUL… SHE IS THE WAY. ON THE COMPOSITION NOTEBOOKS PAGES BEFORE ME: DIG DEEP. DIG DEEP TO THE BOTTOM— AND THINK OF HER, TO THE RHYTHM OF MY

HOW DO I LOVE THEE? LET ME COUNT THE WAYS.

HOW DO I LOVE THEE? ―MY SHAKESPEARE’S NOT BAD. AND SINCE THIS IS A LETTER, THERE ARE NO RIGHT ANSWERS. MERELY OPINIONS… OPINIONS… OPINIONS. (LOVE ME.) —I WISH SHE WOULD DO THIS FOR ME. DONE. LOOKING. —THROUGH THE PAGES OF A NOTEBOOK, WRITTEN ACROSS ITS LINES, I AM LOOKING FOR THE GIRL WHO STOLE MY THOUGHTS AND MY HEART. —I COULDN’T HELP IT— SO I LOVE HER, WITH ALL MY SOUL. WITH ALL OF MY SOUL, IN EVERY WORD I SPEAK, —THOUGHTS OF HER BURNING A HOLE THROUGH MY WORDS, UNTIL THEY’RE BLURRED.

THE TALE OF THE BOTTLE NEGLECT. A WORD SO COLD, THAT IT PIERCES MY SOUL, —AND TAKES HOLD. TEARS BLEED DOWN MY CHEEKS —OH HOW I WISH IT WERE NOT SO! NOW I AM ALONE, —NO ONE HERE SEEMS TO CARE. THE WORLD HAS TURNED ITS BACK ON ME, BUT STILL I YEARN FOR LIGHT, —FOR HOPE. ENEMIES SURROUND ME, PERILS WITH EVERY STEP, BUT I KNOW I WILL MAKE IT THROUGH, —WITH A SHOT OF GIN, AND A SLICE OF HOPE. I SEE THE WORLD THROUGH A VEIL OF WINE, AS I STAGGER FORWARD, SEARCHING FOR THE LIGHT, DETERMINED TO MAKE IT THROUGH. AND I WILL. —MAYBE. KEEP MOVING FORWARD, LIKE THE FLAMES WITHIN ME: BURNING BRIGHT. WELL, —UNTIL THE BOTTLE IS FINISHED.

ROSES ARE RED,

Y OR N?

VIOLETS ARE BLUE. I HAVE LIVED MY LIFE, AND SO HAVE YOU. BUT I NEED, SOMETHING MORE. (I NEED) SOMETHING TO LOVE —WITH ALL OF MY HEART. I’VE HAD LOVES BEFORE, BUT THEY EITHER FORGOT ME, OR I LEFT THEM. BUT ALL ARE GONE, AND I NEED ANOTHER, —WITH EVERY BIT OF MY BEING. SO I’LL GIVE MYSELF OVER, TO THE FIRST GIRL I SEE. WANTING ONLY TO PLEASE HER. ALL THAT SHE— REQUIRES OF ME, IS EVERYTHING. I GUESS I LOVE YOU. Y OR N? I THINK, —THAT YES, I’LL GO FOR YES. (SURE… WHY NOT.) I MEAN, GOOD THINGS COME IN PAIRS, DON’T THEY? AND I LOVE YOU: —AND I STILL ENJOY THE SOUND OF “YOU”—; I’LL THINK IT OVER. (IN A SECOND.) SO… Y OR N? PLEASE CHOOSE. ONE OR THE OTHER,

DOESN’T MATTER TO ME— —AT LEAST, NOT RIGHT NOW. BUT LATER, WHEN WE’RE TOGETHER, —UNDER THE SKY, LOST IN EACH OTHER’S ARMS, I’LL THINK IT OVER. (AGAIN...)

BUT… WHAT IF YOU SAY NO? (OH NO!) BUT—WHAT IF I SAY YES? (WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME?) WHY CAN’T YOU CHOOSE? (SURELY IT COULDN’T BE HARD!) SO… Y OR N? CHOOSE ONE— —AND PICK ONE NOW! YOU’RE DRIVING ME NUTS! AND IF IT’S N, I‘LL GO FOR Y. SO… Y OR N? —I GUESS YOU’LL NEVER KNOW.

COOKING WINE

YOU CAN FIND HIM IN THE ALLEYWAY NEAR THE HIPSTER BAR. HE MIGHT HAVE PISSED HIMSELF OR HAVE HIS PANTS AROUND HIS ANKLES. YOU CAN FIND HIM AT HARBOURSIDE PARK IN THE FALL DRINKING COOKING WINE HE BOUGHT AT THE ASIAN GROCERY STORE ON WATER STREET. OR HE’S DRINKING LISTERINE. HE PREFERS THE YELLOW STUFF. SO I’M TOLD. YOU CAN FIND HIM ON THE STAGE ON GEORGE STREET SLEEPING BEHIND THE STAGE. A BEAUTIFUL CLOSED IN SPACE TO GET OUT OF THE ELEMENTS. YOU CAN FIND HIM AT THE BANK ON THE WEST SIDE OF THE CITY. COWBOY BOOTS, BLACK AND GREY, SCUFFED. DENIM SHIRT ON, SNAP BUTTONS AND ALL. HE’LL HAVE A FADED BLACK SUEDE JACKET ON TOO, HIS HAIR SLICKED BACK WITH GEL. HE’LL TELL YOU HE HAS THREE DEGREES AND USED TO BE IN THE ARMY. SAID HE CARRIED ONE OF THOSE BIG FRIGGIN’ GUNS. SAID HE KILLED PEOPLE. THEN HE TELLS YOU HE’S A SOLIDER. HE’S ALSO EX-FBI AGENT WHO APPARENTLY HAS TIES TO RUSSIANS, OR HE OWNS SOMEONE THERE SOMETHING. SO I’M TOLD. SOMETIMES YOU CAN FIND HIM AT AN EMERGENCY SHELTER GETTING FED AND KEPT WARM. THOSE PRIVATE SHELTERS GIVE HIM GRILL CHEESE SANDWICHES AND FISH STICKS. SAYS THEY GET JUICE IN THE MORNING. AND ALL THE COFFEE YOU CAN DRINK. IF YOU FINDS HIM AT THE SHELTER HYPED UP YOU KNOWS HE’S ON THE COFFEE. YOU CAN FIND HIM WALKING DOWN LEMARCHANT ROAD ASKING STRANGERS FOR TWOONIES, FIVE DOLLAR BILLS OR SMOKES. YOU CAN FIND HIM AT THE BUS SHELTERS ALL OVER THE CITY. WHEN IT GETS COLD, AND HE’S ON THE BUZZ HE RIDES THE BUS, UNTIL THEY KICK HIM OFF FOR YELLING SWEARING AT PEOPLE. HALF CUT ON THE BUS. USUALLY GETS THE BOOT ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CITY. SAYS HE CABS IT BACK TO THE EMERGENCY SHELTER. CABS IT. YES BY. YOU CAN ALWAYS ASK HIM WHERE HE GETS THE MONEY AND HE’LL TELL YOU HE KNOWS A GUY. EVERYONE ALWAYS KNOWS A GUY. CAN’T RETURN A TEXT, BUT THE PHONE IS GLUED TO THE PALM ON THEIR HAND. ALL SHOW AND NO PIAZZA. LIKE LIGHTING A SPARKLER ONLY TO WATCH IT DO NOTHING BUT FIZZ OUT. YOU CAN ALWAYS FIND HIM IN THE DRUNK TANK. THE LOCK UP. BUDDY IS ALWAYS ON THE BOOZE. LOVES IT, HE SAYS. SAYS HE WAS IN THE GOVERNMENT WORKING ON THE RAILWAY TRACKS. BACK WHEN THEY HAD TRAINS. TELLS YA,

HE WAS THE GUY TAKING THE TICKETS FROM PEOPLE. TELLS YA HE MET FAMOUS PEOPLE. RICHARD GERE YOU CAN ALWAYS EXPECT A STORY. YOU ALWAYS THINK HE’S BULLSHITTING YOU. HALFTRUTHS. SOMETIMES I BELIEVE HIM.

THE GLASS PALACE CHRONICLE TW: BIGOTRY

NOAH STOOD ON THE EDGE OF HIS FATHER’S POOL BUT COULD NOT GO IN. THERE WERE PEOPLE IN IT. PEOPLE HE DID NOT RECOGNIZE. NOAH WENT BACK INSIDE AND TOOK OFF HIS ORANGE WATER WINGS. HIS FATHER WAS IN THE KITCHEN, STILL DRINKING HIS MORNING COFFEE. NOAH ASKED HIM ABOUT THE PEOPLE IN THE POOL AND HOW LONG THEY WOULD BE THERE. NOAH’S FATHER TOOK OUT HIS PHONE AND LOGGED INTO AN APP. HE WATCHED HIS FATHER’S FOREHEAD WRINKLE UP AS HE REVIEWED THE DETAILS ON THE SCREEN. “PRETTY MUCH UNTIL DINNER.” “WHAT?” “YES. THEY’LL BE USING IT ALL DAY.” “WHY?” “BECAUSE THEY PAID FOR IT, SON.” NOAH’S FATHER PUT THE PHONE AWAY. “YOU SEE, I’M RENTING OUT THE POOL TO PEOPLE WHO DON’T HAVE ONE. IT HELPS US AFFORD IT.” “BUT I WANT TO USE IT.” “NOAH, LIFE IS ABOUT COMPROMISES.” “WHY CAN’T THEY JUST GO TO THE WATER PARK?” “PICTURES.” “PICTURES?” “THEY NEED TO TAKE PICTURES.” “HOW COME?” “TO MAKE IT LOOK LIKE THEY OWN A POOL.” NOAH POUTED. “BUT I’M SO BORED. IT’S SO HOT.” HIS FATHER CHUCKLED. “IT’S NOT SO HOT.” “CAN WE GO SOMEWHERE? LIKE GOLF?” “ONE DAY SOON, NOAH.”

“FOR REAL THIS TIME! NO PUT-PUT. LIKE YOU PROMISED!” “I’LL SHOW YOU HOW DADDY AND THE GROWN-UPS DO IT. DADDY JUST HAS TO GET HIS MEMBERSHIP BACK.” THE NEXT TIME NOAH TRIED TO USE THE POOL, IT WAS COVERED WITH A LARGE PIECE OF CLEAR PLASTIC. NOAH COULD SEE THE LIGHT BLUE WATER SHIMMERING UNDERNEATH. HE PUT HIS FOOT ON THE PLASTIC AND IT SUPPORTED HIM. THE SURFACE WAS FLAT AND DID NOT WOBBLE. NOAH WALKED TO THE MIDDLE OF THE POOL AND STOOD ABOVE IT IN HIS TRUNKS AND WATER WINGS. A GROUP OF MEN CARRYING POLES AND A TARP TOLD HIM TO GET OUT OF THEIR WAY. NOAH RAN BACK INDOORS AND ASKED HIS FATHER ONCE AGAIN WHAT WAS GOING ON. HIS FATHER CLOSED HIS LAPTOP AND TOLD NOAH THAT THE BACKYARD WAS BEING USED OF A PARTY. NOAH’S EYES WIDENED. “A PARTY!” “YES. BUT NOT FOR US. SOME OTHER PEOPLE ARE HAVING IT.” “WILL THERE BE CAKE?” “THERE WILL BE CAKE. BUT NOT FOR US.” “HOW COME?” “THEY PAID TO USE THE BACKYARD.” “OH.” “IT’S THEIR PARTY AND IT’S NOT FOR US.” “IN OUR BACKYARD?” “YES.” “FOR HOW LONG?” “LONG, NOAH, LONG.” THE BACKYARD WAS POPULAR. PLENTY OF PEOPLE WANTED TO USE IT. NOAH WATCHED THEM ALL FROM HIS BEDROOM WINDOW.

HE SAW WEDDINGS, GRADUATION PARTIES, BAR MITZVAHS, AND QUINCEAÑERAS. WHEN THEY WERE TOO LOUD, NOAH TRIED TO SLEEP WITH HIS HEAD UNDER A PILLOW. DURING ONE OF THE QUINCEAÑERAS, NOAH NOTICED HIS FATHER CARRYING A BASEBALL AROUND THE HOUSE. HE THOUGHT IT WAS FOR A GAME. NOAH RAN UP TO HIS ROOM AND GOT HIS GLOVE, HOPING THEY COULD PLAY TOGETHER. ONCE HE FOUND IT, HE RAN BACK DOWNSTAIRS TO GET A BALL. HE STOPPED HE SEARCH WHEN HE SAW HIS FATHER STANDING BY THE DOOR TO THE BACKYARD. HE WAS POKING A MAN IN A MARIACHI COSTUME WITH HIS BAT. “NO. NO BATHROOM. NO. TERMS AND CONDITIONS. GET AWAY. THIS IS MY HOUSE.” HE YELLED. NOAH WENT UP TO HIS FATHER. HE SHOWED HIM HIS GLOVE. “WHAT’S THAT FOR? YOU THINK YOU’RE GONNA PLAY BASEBALL WITH THESE PEOPLE?” HE LAUGHED. “THEY ONLY LIKE SOCCER. THEY DON’T CARE ABOUT OUR GAMES.” THE NEXT DAY, THEY DROVE TO SEE NOAH’S GRANDMOTHER. HIS FATHER WAS NOT IN A GOOD MOOD. HE TOLD NOAH THAT THEY HAD TO BE CAREFUL. CRIME WAS UP. DANGEROUS PEOPLE WERE ENTERING THE COUNTRY. THEY WERE ALL OUT TO SQUEEZE THE HARDWORKING MAN. AS HE LISTED ALL THE KINDS OF TOURNIQUETS BEING APPLIED TO HIM, NOAH ASKED HIM WHAT A LIMOUSINE LIBERAL WAS. “WHERE DID YOU HEAR THAT?” “YOU.” “ME?” “YOU CALLED ONE OF THE WEDDING PEOPLE THAT.” “OH, THE HERSHKOWITZ PARTY.” “WHAT’S IT MEAN?” “SOMEBODY WHO THINKS THEY’RE REALLY NICE BECAUSE THEY GIVE THINGS AWAY. BUT IN REALITY, THEY’RE JUST TAKING YOUR STUFF TO GIVE TO SOMEONE ELSE.” NOAH’S GRANDMOTHER LIVED IN A RETIREMENT COMMUNITY. NOAH’S FATHER LIKED TO POINT OUT ALL THE AMENITIES TO NOAH EVERY TIME THEY VISITED. SHE HAD ACCESS TO A POOL, A GYM, 24-HOUR PERSONAL CARE, AND EVEN A CHEF WHO SUPERVISED HER DIET.

HE HAD TO PROTECT HER, HIS FATHER SAID. IT WAS HIS DUTY. JUST LIKE HE HAD TO DO THE SAME FOR NOAH. HE WANTED TO PLAY IN THE POOL BUT HIS FATHER SAID THEY NEEDED TO SPEND THEIR TIME WITH HER. AS SOON AS SHE SAW HER GRANDSON, SHE HUGGED NOAH. IT WAS TOO TIGHT FOR HIM, BUT SHE GAVE HIM A CHOCOLATE BAR TO EAT. NOAH HAD TROUBLE WITH THE WRAPPER AND HIS FATHER HAD TO PEEL THE PAPER AND FOIL BACK FOR HIM. NOAH’S GRANDMOTHER LED HIM AROUND HER ROOM. THE WALLS WERE COVERED WITH PICTURES OF PEOPLE SHE KNEW AND PLACES SHE HAD VISITED. IN FRONT OF EACH ONE, SHE TOLD NOAH A STORY ABOUT THE PHOTOGRAPH. NOAH NODDED AND ATE HIS CANDY. IT QUICKLY DISAPPEARED, LEAVING CHOCOLATE ON HIS FINGERS. NOAH USED A KLEENEX TO CLEAN THEM. THERE WERE SEVERAL OF BOXES OF THEM SPREAD THROUGH THE ROOM. SHE TURNED ON THE TV AND WATCHED THE NEWS WITH HIS FATHER. NOAH SAT BEHIND HER COUCH AND TOOK OUT A TOY CAR FROM HIS POCKET. HE PRETENDED TO MAKE IT DRIVE BY MAKING FIGURE EIGHTS ON THE CARPET. A MAN ON THE TV WAS TALKING. NOAH THOUGHT THE MAN WAS VERY LOUD. HIS FATHER LIKED HIM. THE MAN’S NAME WAS JOSH. JOSH LINDSEY. NOAH’S FATHER SAID HE WAS GOING TO MAKE THINGS BETTER FOR PEOPLE LIKE HIM. NOAH WONDERED WHAT THIS MEANT. WOULD THERE BE NO MORE DANGEROUS PEOPLE? WOULD THEY STOP SQUEEZING HIS FATHER? NOAH IMAGINED THEY WERE DOING TO HIM WHAT HIS GRANDMOTHER DID WITH HER HUGS. THE TV PLAYED AN AD. NOAH’S FATHER LIKED IT EVEN MORE. IT WAS FOR SPECIAL COINS WITH JOSH LINDSEY’S FACE ON THEM. THEY WERE MADE WITH 30 KARAT GOLD. NOAH STOOD UP TO WATCH THE AD. THE COINS LOOKED PRETTY. THEY WERE SHINY. “IS THAT PIRATE TREASURE?” HE ASKED. “NO SON. BUT IT’S WHAT’S GOING TO MAKE US RICH.” “HOW?’ NOAH’S FATHER HELD UP HIS PHONE. “I GOT THIS APP THAT PUTS ASIDE THE MONEY I’M MAKING OFF RENTALS IT INTO THE COINS. THEN WHEN THE PRICE GOES UP, I’LL SELL THEM.” “OH. WE’RE GOING TO BE RICH?” “AGAIN. YES.” “HOW COME I NEVER SEE HIM WITH A FAMILY?” HIS GRANDMOTHER ASKED.

“LINDSEY’S A BUSY MAN, MOM. HE’S TOO BUSY SAVING AMERICA.” NOAH WOKE UP ONE MORNING AND WENT TO THE KITCHEN FOR BREAKFAST. HE NOTICED HIS BOX OF FROSTED BASEBALL PUFFS WAS GONE. INSTEAD, THERE WAS SOMETHING CALLED MAJOR LEAGUE LUMPS. NOAH TOOK THE BOX OUT OF THE CUPBOARD AND LOOKED AROUND FOR HIS FATHER. HE FOUND HIM IN THE GARAGE TALKING TO ANOTHER MAN. THEY WERE STANDING OVER HIS FATHER’S RIDING MOWER. NOAH’S FATHER TOOK OUT HIS PHONE. HE TAPPED ON HIS SCREEN AND HANDED THE MAN A KEY. THEY SHOOK HANDS AND THE OTHER MAN ROLLED THE MOWER ONTO THE BACK A PICKUP TRUCK. “WHO’S THAT?” “OH, HE’S RENTING THE MOWER. NO USE HAVING IT SIT THERE WHEN IT COULD BE MAKING US MONEY.” “DAD?” “YEAH?” “WHAT ARE THESE?” NOAH HELD UP THE BOX OF CEREAL. “YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL. WHY?” “NO DAD. I LIKE FROSTED BASEBALL PUFFS. THESE ARE LUMPS.” “THEY’RE THE SAME.” “NO. THEY COME THE BOTTOM OF THE SHELF. I SAW THEM WHEN MOM-” “LOOK NOAH, WE ALL HAVE TO MAKE SACRIFICES.” “ARE YOU SQUEEZING ME?” “NOAH! DON’T SAY THAT TO ME. OKAY? I’M YOUR FATHER. NOW GO EAT YOUR LUMPS.” NOAH TRIED TO EAT THE CEREAL. DESPITE HIS FATHER’S PROMISE, IT WAS NOT THE SAME. HE PUSHED THE BOWL ASIDE AND PUT THE BOX BACK. THIS TIME HE NOTICED ANOTHER BOX BEHIND WHERE THE CEREAL HAD BEEN. NOAH TOOK IT OUT. IT WAS FILLED WITH COINS. THEY HAD PICTURES OF EAGLES AND FLAGS ON THEM. THERE WERE ALSO PICTURES OF THE MAN HE SAW ON TV. “NOAH!” HIS FATHER SHOUTED.

“WHAT?” “THOSE ARE NOT FOR PLAYING.” “WHAT ARE THEY?” “MY COINS, NOAH. PUT THEM BACK. DON’T TELL ANYONE YOU SAW THEM OKAY?” “DOES SOMEBODY WANT THEM?” “YEAH,” HIS FATHER SNORTED. “THE SOCIALISTS.” THE DOORBELL RANG. NOAH’S FATHER WENT TO ANSWER IT. NOAH WATCHED TO SEE WHO IT WAS. IT WAS A COUPLE. “WE’RE HERE FOR THE 10 O’CLOCK,” THE WOMAN SAID. SHE WAS HOLDING A BASKET FULL OF LAUNDRY. THE MAN WITH HAD A LARGE SACK AT HIS FEET. NOAH’S FATHER PULLED OUT HIS PHONE. HE CHECKED THEIR FACES WITH THE FACES OF THE PEOPLE WHO MADE THE RESERVATION. EVERYTHING LINED UP. “YOU CAN’T BE TOO CAREFUL, YOU KNOW?” HE TOLD THEM. “WASHER AND DRYER ARE IN THE BASEMENT. NOAH, SHOW THEM WHERE THE BASEMENT STAIRS ARE. OKAY?” RIGHT AS SUMMER VACATION ENDED, NOAH ASKED HIS FATHER IF THEY COULD GO GOLFING. INSTEAD, NOAH HAD TO CLEAN OUT THE GARAGE WITH HIM. NOAH’S FATHER SORTED THROUGH THE BOXES AND PUT OUT THINGS FOR NOAH TO DRAG TO THE CURB. MANY OF THE ITEMS WERE OLD BABY CLOTHES. NOAH FOUND IT HARD TO BELIEVE HE WAS EVER SO SMALL. THERE WERE ALSO BROKEN TOOLS, PAINT CANS, AND DEAD BATTERIES TO CARRY. NOAH ASKED WHY THEY NEEDED TO MAKE SO MUCH SPACE. HIS FATHER TOLD HIM HE FOUND ANOTHER APP. THIS ONE HELPED PEOPLE FIND GARAGES WHERE THEY COULD PARK THEIR CARS. “WHAT ABOUT OUR CAR?” “WE’LL KEEP IT ON THE DRIVEWAY. LOOK, THERE’S ENOUGH SPACE FOR ANOTHER CAR TO GET THROUGH. WE’D BE CRAZY NOT TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF IT. NOW HELP ME WITH THESE.” NOAH’S FATHER PULLED OUT BUNCH OF WOODEN FRAMES WITH CANVAS STAPLED TO THEM. THEY WERE PAINTINGS. NOAH HAD NEVER SEEN THEM BEFORE. HE LIKED HOW COLORFUL AND MESSY THEY WERE. “WOW. THESE ARE PRETTY.”

“COME ON, NOAH. IT’S TRASH.” “WHO MADE THEM? YOU? MOM?” “TAKE THEM TO THE CURB NOAH.” THE GARAGE WAS CLEAN AND EMPTY FOR A DAY. AFTERWARD, THERE WAS ALWAYS A DIFFERENT CAR FROM A STRANGER PARKED THERE. THAT LEFT SOME FREE SPACE BY THE WALL. NOAH’S FATHER BEGAN TO STACK BOXES OF HIS COINS THERE. NOAH LIKED THE SOUND THEY MADE AS THEY RATTLED. ANOTHER MORNING, NOAH WAS IN THE KITCHEN, TRYING TO ENJOY A BOWL OF LUMPS. HE HEARD HIS FATHER’S VOICE DOWN IN THE BASEMENT. HE WAS YELLING. THE SOUND OF FOOTSTEPS FOLLOWED. TWO WOMEN LEFT THE BASEMENT. THEIR LAUNDRY WAS DRIPPING ACROSS THE FLOOR. NOAH’S FATHER CAME UP AND TOLD THEM TO KEEP GOING. IF THEY DID NOT LIKE HIS JOSH LINDSEY POSTER, THEY COULD DRY THEIR CLOTHES SOMEWHERE ELSE. AFTER THEY LEFT, NOAH’S FATHER WENT INTO THE GARAGE. HE RUMMAGED AROUND, SWORE, AND CAME INTO THE KITCHEN. “NOAH!” “YEAH, DAD?” “WHERE’S THE CANVAS? WHERE THE PAINT? I WANT TO PUT A SIGN OUT FRONT FOR EVERYONE TO KNOW THIS IS A JOSH LINDSEY HOUSE. THIS IS MY PROPERTY AND I WON’T BE INTIMIDATED BY SOCIALISTS HERE. NO WAY. NOT ON MY PROPERTY. I MIGHT HAVE PEOPLE COMING IN-” “DAD.” “BUT I GET TO CONTROL WHO COMES IN AND OUT! RIGHT? I COULD STAND MY GROUND, IF I WANTED TO.” “DAD.” “I MEAN, IF I HAD TO,” HE LAUGHED. “DAD.” “WHAT?“

“YOU THREW THE CANVASES AND THE PAINT OUT. YOU MADE ME THROW IT OUT.” “OH.” AFTER HIS FIRST DAY BACK AT SCHOOL, NOAH CAME HOME AND FOUND HIS FATHER AT THE KITCHEN TABLE. HIS PHONE WAS IN HIS HANDS AND HE WAS SHOUTING. NOAH ASKED HIM WHAT WAS WRONG. “LOUSY COMMUNISTS ARE TANKING MY RATINGS,” HE BEGAN. “THEY DON’T LIKE MY POLITICS! THEY’RE TRYING TO CENSOR ME. MY WASHER AND DRYER ARE PERFECTLY FINE! MY GARAGE IS CLEAN! THE POOL HAS THE RIGHT PH LEVEL. THESE LIARS, THESE LIARS WANT TO RUIN ME WITH BAD REVIEWS! THEY’RE ALREADY IN THE HOUSE ALL THE TIME. BUT THAT’S NOT ENOUGH FOR THEM. THEY SEE EVERYTHING WE GOT AND THEY’RE JEALOUS, NOAH….”

NOAH TRIED TO CALM HIM DOWN. HE TURNED ON THE TV AND PUT ON THE CHANNEL HIS FATHER LIKED. AS SOON AS A MONOLOGUE BY JOSH LINDSEY CAME THROUGH, HIS FATHER RELAXED. THE TENSION LEFT HIS SHOULDERS. THE LINES ON HIS FOREHEAD FADED. HE NO LONGER LOOKED LIKE HE WAS ABOUT TO SNAP HIS PHONE IN TWO. NOAH’S FATHER THANKED HIM AND NOAH WENT UP TO HIS ROOM. ONE AFTERNOON, THE WASHER AND DRYER COMPANY KICKED NOAH’S FATHER OFF THE PLATFORM. HE SWORE LOUDLY AT THE RESULT. NOAH DID NOT BOTHER TURNING ON THE TV FOR HIM. INSTEAD, HE WENT TO HIS ROOM AND TRIED TO HIDE FROM THE NOISE. NOAH PUT HIS HEAD UNDER HIS PILLOW AND TOOK A NAP. WHEN HE WOKE UP, HIS FATHER WAS AT THE DOOR. NOAH LET HIM IN. THEN HE TRIED TO IGNORE HIM BY SITTING ON THE BED AND FACING THE WINDOW. “NOAH,” HE SAID, “I’M SORRY. I SHOULDN’T HAVE LET ALL THOSE PEOPLE GET TO ME. I CAN BE LOUD AND PROUD BUT I CAN’T GO CRAZY. IT’S NOT WHAT JOSH LINDSEY WOULD WANT. I LOST MY COOL AROUND YOU. I’M SORRY. ANYWAY. I FOUND ANOTHER APP. IT WON’T MAKE AS MUCH MONEY AS THE WASHER AND DRYER ONE. BUT WHO CARES. I GET TO BE MYSELF. THAT’S JUST AS IMPORTANT. YOU’LL LEARN THAT SOMEDAY, SON.” HE WAITED FOR NOAH TO TURN AROUND. WHEN HIS SON REMAINED FACING AWAY, NOAH’S FATHER MUTTERED TO HIMSELF AND LEFT. THE NEXT DAY, NOAH WANTED TOAST FOR BREAKFAST AND WAITED FOR HIS FATHER TO HELP HIM MAKE IT. NOAH WAS STILL TOO YOUNG TO USE THE TOASTER. HE HEARD HIS FATHER WALKING DOWN THE MAIN STAIRS. HE WAS WHISTLING TOO. THAT PUT NOAH AT EASE. WHEN HIS FATHER APPEARED, THERE WAS A BAG WITH GOLF CLUBS IN IT SLUNG OVER HIS SHOULDER.

NOAH SMILED. “OH, ARE YOU TEACHING ME TO GOLF TODAY?” HIS FATHER SHOOK HIS HEAD. “NO SON. THESE AREN’T FOR US TO USE. THEY’RE FOR MR. FOSTER. YOU REMEMBER HIM?” NOAH DID NOT. “HE’S USED THE GARAGE A COUPLE OF TIMES. YOU’LL PROBABLY RECOGNIZE HIM IF YOU SEE HIM. HE’S MET JOSH LINDSEY. WHAT AM I SAYING?” HE SMILED. “MET? HE’S IN CHARGE OF THE MAN’S CAMPAIGN FOR THE DISTRICT.” “OKAY.” “SEE I REPLACED THE WASHER AND DRYER APP WITH ONE FOR GOLF CLUBS. A LOT OF PEOPLE ARE LIKE MR. FOSTER, YOU SEE. THEY’RE TRYING TO JOIN PLACES BUT THEY DON’T HAVE THE EQUIPMENT YET.” “OKAY.” MR. FOSTER ARRIVED A LITTLE BIT LATER. HE WAS ALSO USING THE GARAGE FOR HIS CAR THAT DAY. NOAH HAD NEVER SEEN A MAN WHO LOOKED SO PINK BEFORE. MR. FOSTER SHOOK HANDS WITH NOAH’S FATHER AND NOAH’S FATHER GAVE HIM THE CLUBS. MR. FOSTER SAID HELLO TO NOAH AND ASKED HIM HOW OLD HE WAS. “SEVEN.” “EXCELLENT. YEP. A FINE AGE TO BE, YOUNG MAN!” MR. FOSTER TOLD HIM. HE TOOK THE CLUBS AND CARRIED THEM INTO THE GARAGE. ALONG THE WAY TO HIS CAR, THERE WAS AN ACCIDENT. HE KNOCKED OVER A BOX FILLED WITH COINS. NOAH WENT UNDER THE TABLE, EXPECTING HIS FATHER TO GET ANGRY. INSTEAD, HIS FATHER LAUGHED WHEN HE SAW THE COINS ON THE GROUND. HE MADE A GOLF JOKE TO MR. FOSTER AND MR. FOSTER THEN LAUGHED. NOAH DID NOT UNDERSTAND IT. SOMETHING ABOUT TROUBLE SWINGING. AFTER THE LAUGHTER ENDED, NOAH’S FATHER AND MR. FOSTER BEGAN PICKING UP THE COINS. “YOU KNOW,” MR. FOSTER SAID, “THE CAMPAIGN APPRECIATES IT BUT IT’S TOO MUCH.” “WHY?”

“DON’T GET THE WRONG IDEA THINKING I HATE THE COINS. I’VE GOT SOME MYSELF! YEP. BUT THEY’RE MORE FOR SHOW. PUT THEM ON THE MANTEL NEXT TO THE PICTURES OF ME AND LINDSEY. THEY’LL PROBABLY BE ANOTHER ONE TO FRAME FOR THE COLLECTION AFTER THE RALLY WE GOT COMING UP.” “SO WHAT’S THE PROBLEM? IT’S AN INVESTMENT OPPORTUNITY.” “YOU CAN’T BELIEVE WHAT THE TV SAYS. LOOK HOW THEY LIE ABOUT LINDSEY.” “BUT LINDSEY’S CAMPAIGN IS SELLING THEM. IT’S A WAY TO GET INTO GOLD.” “IT IS AND IT ISN’T.” “WHAT DO YOU MEAN?” “FIRST, THE CAMPAIGN ISN’T SELLING THEM. A THIRD PARTY IS. IT’S SOME CONGLOMERATION THAT MANAGES A LOT OF DIFFERENT APPS. YEP. ONES FOR BLOCKCHAIN, OTHERS FOR BETTING. THEY OWN THE ONE WE USED FOR THE CLUBS. THE ONE FOR THE GARAGE TOO.” “OH.” “AS FOR GETTING INTO THE GOLD. IT’S TECHNICALLY CORRECT, I SUPPOSE.” “IT’S 30 KARAT!” “30 KARAT ISN’T A THING. 24 IS THE HIGHEST. YEP.” MR. FOSTER TAPPED ONE OF THE BOXES WITH HIS FOOT. “I DOUBT THESE COINS HAVE ANYTHING CLOSE TO THAT. MAYBE ENOUGH FOR A CARAT CAKE!” HE LAUGHED. NOAH’S FATHER DID NOT. NOAH WENT BACK TO HIS ROOM AND PUT HIS HEAD UNDER HIS PILLOW. IT WAS DARK OUT WHEN HE WOKE UP. NOAH COULD HEAR ANOTHER PARTY IN THE BACKYARD. THERE WAS MORE MARIACHI MUSIC. LANTERNS WERE STRUNG AROUND THE FENCE. NOAH COULD SEE THE REMAINS OF A PINATA AT THE FOOT OF A TREE. HE WAS HUNGRY AND WENT DOWN TO THE KITCHEN. MR. FOSTER AND NOAH’S FATHER WERE AT THE TABLE. THERE WERE TINY GLASSES AROUND THEM. HE SMELLED LIME AND SALT. MR. FOSTER NOTICED NOAH FIRST. “WELL, LOOK WHO’S FINALLY UP. YEP. HAVE A GOOD NAP?” NOAH SHRUGGED.

“NOAH, I’VE BEEN TALKING TO YOUR FATHER. NOAH, DO YOU LOVE YOUR COUNTRY?” “OF COURSE HE DOES.” NOAH’S FATHER ANSWERED FOR HIM. “HE’S MY BOY.” NOAH THOUGHT IT WAS STRANGE THE WAY HIS FATHER EMPHASIZED MY. “NOAH, YOU KNOW WHO ELSE LOVES THIS COUNTRY? JOSH LINDSEY. RIGHT?” NOAH NODDED. “BUT JOSH LINDSEY HAS A PROBLEM. YEP. HE DOESN’T HAVE A WIFE. HE DOESN’T HAVE KIDS. YEP. WE CAN’T DO MUCH ABOUT THE LATER. THE FORMER THOUGH, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?’ NOAH WAS SILENT. “THE BOY DOESN’T UNDERSTAND,” HIS FATHER SAID. “NOAH, MR. FOSTER WANTS TO BORROW YOU FOR A BIT. YOU’LL BE A KIND OF SON FOR JOSH LINDSEY. STAND NEXT TO HIM WHEN HE’S WALKING.” “BEHIND HIM WHEN HE’S TALKING.” “WHY?” NOAH ASKED. “PICTURES.” “PICTURES?” “THEY NEED TO TAKE PICTURES.”

KILLING FIELDS

FOSSILS FUEL KILLING FIELDS APRIL’S FOOL HARVEST YIELDS DEADLY QUIET NOT ENOUGH CLIMATE RIOTS CALLING BLUFFS BET THE HOUSE FOLD AND MOVE HUNGRY MOUTHS DESPERATE FUSE RUSTED PLOWS TRUSTED GUNS

EYES OF THE WORLD

I SENSE THE BUILDING’S FAÇADE RISING INTO THE SKY IN FRONT OF ME, BUT I’M TOO CLOSE TO IT TO ACTUALLY GLIMPSE THE TOP…FOREST FOR THE TREES AND THAT SORT OF THING. I LEAN CLOSER TOWARD THE DOOR BECAUSE I CAN’T READ THE NAMES ON THE DOOR PLATE, AND I’VE JUST STRUCK MY LAST MATCH. I PRAY THAT THIS ONE DOESN’T GO OUT… YES! THERE IT IS. MS. JERUSHA WYVERN. SHE’S THE ONE I NEED. THE NINTH FLOOR. I DROP THE STILL-LIT MATCH AND SLOWLY PUSH OPEN THE HEAVY DOOR; THE DOOR PROBABLY WEIGHS MORE THAN ME. THE HALLWAY INSIDE IS VERY DARK, BUT THERE IS ONE OF THOSE OLD-FASHIONED LIGHT SWITCHES ON THE WALL…PERHAPS YOU REMEMBER THE KIND? THEY LIGHT THE STAIRWELL FOR ABOUT A MINUTE BEFORE SWITCHING OFF. IT’S A FEATURE OF THESE OLDER BUILDINGS, BUILT DURING ANOTHER TIME, WHEN THINGS WERE PRESERVED MORE CAREFULLY. THERE IS ENOUGH LIGHT-TIME TO GET ME TO THE ELEVATOR AND THEN, WITH A CLICK, THERE IS DARKNESS AGAIN. BY THEN, I HAVE SUMMONED THE ELEVATOR AND IT IS SLOWLY CRAWLING ITS WAY DOWN TOWARD ME FROM THE DIM PLACES SOMEWHERE ABOVE. I DON’T NEED THE LIGHT THAT MUCH, ANYWAY. MY EYESIGHT OF STARTING TO FAIL. I HAVE BECOME MORE ACCUSTOMED TO JUDGING THINGS BY THEIR SOUND. I FEEL LIKE I AM BECOMING SHARPER AT SEEING PEOPLE BY THEIR VOICES AND THEIR WORDS. I COULDN’T TELL YOU WHAT THE TAXI DRIVER LOOKED LIKE, THE ONE WHO BROUGHT ME TO THIS STREET, BUT I WOULD REMEMBER HIS VOICE IF I HEARD HIM AGAIN. WHEN HE TALKED I COULD FEEL HIS SMILES. HE ASKED ME WHY I WAS HERE IN THE EIGHTH DISTRICT, SO FAR AWAY FROM THE BRIGHT LIGHTS OF THE MORE FASHIONABLE SECTIONS OF TOWN. I PROBABLY TOLD HIM MORE THAN HE WANTED TO KNOW. I’M SO NERVOUS. MY SEARCH HAS PAID OFF, YOU SEE. I FOUND HER. AND NOW THAT I WAS ON MY WAY TO SEE HER I KEPT CLOSING MY EYES AND SILENTLY RECITING THE WORDS I’D BEEN REHEARSING. THE CAB DRIVER LET ME TALK FOR A WHILE… AND THEN WE RODE THE REST OF THE WAY IN SILENCE. BEFORE HE DROPPED ME OFF HE REMINDED ME THAT THE EIGHTH DISTRICT WASN’T SAFE FOR YOUNG WOMEN. AND EVEN THOUGH IT WAS STILL DAYTIME, STILL AFTERNOON, IT WAS FAIRLY DARK AND OVERCAST AND LOOKED LIKE RAIN. A YOUNG LADY MIGHT CATCH COLD, HE SAID. I SHOULD BE CAREFUL, HE TOLD ME. I TOLD HIM THAT I DIDN’T PLAN ON BEING THERE LONG. I WOULD ONLY NEED A FEW MOMENTS WITH HER.

BY NOW THE ELEVATOR HAS ARRIVED AND I’M INSIDE. IT HAS AN OLD-FASHIONED ACCORDION DOOR WHICH TAKES ALL MY WEIGHT TO CLOSE. BY SQUINTING VERY HARD I AM ABLE TO MAKE OUT THE FLOOR NUMBERS. I PRESS THE BUTTON FOR THE NINTH. THERE IS A METALLIC GROAN AND AN ANCIENT SHUDDER AND THEN THE ELEVATOR BEGINS TO RISE.

I SMELL DIFFERENT SMELLS FROM EACH FLOOR AS I PASS THEM BY. POTATOES, SOMETHING LIKE MUSHROOMS, GARLIC, CIGARETTES. THEY ARE SCENTS AND FLASHES OF OTHER PEOPLE’S LIVES. SOMETHING ABOUT THE MINGLING OF SMELLS SENDS ME BACK INTO THE MEMORY FROM SO MANY MONTHS AGO WHEN IT HAPPENED. A GROUP OF US, WE HAD DECIDED TO FOLLOW THE PATH OF THE SOLAR ECLIPSE LAST YEAR. I COULD SEE MORE CLEARLY THEN. WE PARKED BY A MEADOW IN THE COUNTRYSIDE AND SPREAD A BLANKET OUT TO WAIT. IT WAS THE SPECIAL HOUR OF LATE IN THE DAY WHEN THE SUNLIGHT ANGLES AND GIVES EVERYTHING A MAGICAL GLOW. WE TOOK OUT OUR PHONES AND SNAPPED SOME SHOTS OF ONE ANOTHER WHILE WE WAITED. FINALLY, THE MOMENT ARRIVED AND THE SUN DIMMED AS THE MOON TOOK ITS PLACE IN THE SKY. THOSE PEOPLE WHO WRITE ABOUT HOW MAGICAL AN ECLIPSE CAN BE…THEY DON’T LIE. THE EXPERIENCE WAS OTHERWORLDLY. THE MOMENT THAT THE MOON’S SHADOW STARTED TO FALL ACROSS THE EARTH THE ANIMALS PREPARED FOR NIGHT. THE SPIDERS BEGAN TO TAKE APART THEIR WEBS. AT THE VERY MOMENT THAT THE DARKNESS WAS THE GREATEST I COULD NOT RESIST. I DID WHAT WE’RE TOLD NOT TO DO. I STARED UP. DIRECTLY AT THE SHROUDED DISK OF SOLAR LIGHT. MY EYES WERE UNPROTECTED. FIRST MY FRIENDS LAUGHED, BUT WHEN THEY SAW ME CONTINUE TO STARE UPWARD ONE OF MY FRIENDS GASPED. THE OTHERS PULLED AT MY ARM, IMPLORING ME TO TURN AWAY. BUT I COULDN’T. SOMETHING HAD OVERTAKEN ME AND EVEN THOUGH I COULD FEEL MY EYES BEGIN TO BURN STILL I LOOKED UP, RESOLUTELY CAUGHT AND IN RAPTURE. IN THAT MOMENT I FELT AN ANCIENT MINGLING OF THINGS BEYOND MYSELF. I IMAGINED PAST CIVILIZATIONS AND SAW LONG-AGO PEOPLE LOOKING AT THE SKY AS I DID. WHEN THEY LOOKED INTO AN ECLIPSE THEY HEARD CREATURES AND GODDESSES. WHILE MY EYES BURNED I FELT THAT PERHAPS I COULD HEAR THEM, TOO. THEY SPOKE THEIR QUIET, SHADOW LANGUAGE TO ME IN THE WHISPER OF THE INSECTS THAT HAD GATHERED AROUND ME IN THE FIELD. THEIR DARK WORDS WERE PREGNANT WITH PERSONAL TRANSFORMATION AND ALSO A CALL FOR THE WORLD TO RENEW.

WHEN I FINALLY LOOKED DOWN MY EYES WERE BLEEDING WITH MY OWN TEARS, AND I SAW THE FIERY CIRCLE OF THE SUN’S ATMOSPHERE BRANDED ONTO MY VISION FOR THE REST OF THAT DAY. NO MATTER WHERE I LOOKED THE MOLTEN RING OF THE HEAVENS HUNG UNIMPEDED BEFORE MY EYES. AND THERE WAS A REVELATION THAT CAME WITH IT. FOR ON THE RAGGED EDGES OF THE FIRE I COULD SEE COSMIC, LIVING THINGS THAT PERCHED IN THE DARK SPACES BEHIND THE SUN.

I DREAMT OF THEM THAT NIGHT. CELESTIAL BEINGS, HIDDEN FROM OUR EYES EXCEPT WHEN AN ECLIPSE DIMS THE SUN’S BRIGHTNESS…AND, EVEN THEN, ONLY GLIMPSED BY THOSE WHO REFUSE TO HEED THE WARNINGS. THOSE THINGS OUT THERE. HANGING IN SPACE. THEY’VE ALWAYS BEEN THERE. AND ONCE I SAW THEM, I KNOW THEY HAVE PLEDGED THEMSELVES TO ME. THEY WILL NEVER LEAVE ME. NOW I CAN HEAR THEIR MOUTHS, WET WITH COVENANTAL PROMISE. THEY HIDE BEHIND THE THIN VENEER OF DAILY LIFE AND ONLY REVEAL THEMSELVES TO THOSE WILLING TO HEAR. SHORTLY AFTER THAT DAY MY EYES BEGAN TO FAIL, BUT BY THEN I HAD BEEN GIVEN AN INNER VIEW. I BELIEVE THAT I KNOW SOMETHING NOW. I SEE THE WORLD AS THE BEINGS BEHIND THE SUN SEE HER. SHE IS A LIVING ISLAND FLOATING IN THE BLACKEST DARKNESS OF SPACE. AND ON THE DAY OF THE ECLIPSE I SAW THE SOURCE OF ALL THE PLANET’S ENERGY BECOME DARKENED; A YAWNING BLACK HOLE. I RECEIVED A CALLING THAT DAY; A COMMISSIONING. I HAVEN’T BEEN ABLE TO STOP THINKING ABOUT IT AND ITS BEEN OVER A YEAR SINCE IT HAPPENED. I ACHE TO TELL OTHERS. THE CREATURES BEHIND THE SUN…THEY LED ME TO MS. JERUSHA TODAY. SHE IS ALSO COMMISSIONED. SHE POSSESSES THE WAY TO A LARGER VOICE. I HOPE SHE WILL GRANT IT TO ME. THE ELEVATOR GIVES ANOTHER SHAKE AND I BREAK AWAY FROM MY DAYDREAM. I’M IN THE PRESENT AGAIN…READY TO MEET MS. JERUSHA. THE ELEVATOR STOPS AND A MOMENT LATER I’M FEELING MY WAY TOWARD HER DOOR. IT’S AT THE END OF THE HALLWAY. THE HALL LIGHT STAYS ON LONG ENOUGH FOR ME TO FIND HER DOORPLATE. I STAND THERE FOR A MOMENT WITH MY HANDS PRESSED AGAINST THE WOOD. IT FEELS WARM AND WET. I KNOCK TWICE. THERE IS A PAUSE, A HISS OF WIND AT THE THRESHOLD, AND THEN MS. JERUSHA IS STANDING IN THE OPEN DOOR. EVEN THOUGH SHE HAS A FACE, I CAN’T REALLY SEE IT. I SENSE THE VACANT SPACES WHERE HER EYES ARE AND THE WIDE SLICE OF A MOUTH. I CAN ALSO HEAR HER BREATH, SORT OF THICK AND DEEP. AFTER A PAUSE SHE SAYS, “WELL, THEN, WE’D BETTER HAVE YOU IN.” SHE BRINGS ME DOWN A DARK HALLWAY, DARK TO ME AT LEAST, AND THEN I’M SITTING IN A DEEP CHAIR. SHE SITS ACROSS FROM ME, SIPS SOMETHING FOR A MOMENT, AND THEN SAYS, “I WONDER IF YOU KNOW HOW IT WORKS? I CAN’T BELIEVE I’M BLUSHING. I GIVE A SHY SMILE. “YES, I KNOW,” I SAY.

I SENSE HER SMILE AND SHE CONTINUES, “WELL, THERE WILL BE PLENTY WHO’D SAY THEY KNOW, BUT SOME MIGHT LIE,” SHE PAUSES AND I SENSE A SMALL FROWN, “SO WHAT WE’LL NEED FIRST IS FOR YOU TO COME RIGHT OUT AND TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT.” THERE MUST BE A CLOCK IN HERE SOMEWHERE BECAUSE I HEAR A TICKING IN THE SILENCE THAT FOLLOWS. THE ATMOSPHERE IN THIS ROOM IS CLOSE AND THERE’S A FAINT FUNGAL SMELL. SHE SIPS QUIETLY WHILE SHE WAITS. I KNIT MY BROW AND TWIST MY MOUTH. I TAKE A DEEP BREATH AND I SAY, “MA’AM, YOU KNOW I SAW THEM OUT THERE. THEY SHOWED THEMSELVES TO ME IN THE CELESTIAL MOMENT. I HEARD THEM. AND THEN I HEARD YOUR SWEET CALL.” I PAUSED… THINKING CAREFULLY. “IT’S NO ACCIDENT. ECLIPSES CAN ONLY HAPPEN DURING THE DAYLIGHT, WHEN PEOPLE ARE AWAKE. IT’S A TIME FOR NEW SEEDS. I KNOW THIS NOW. THEY SHOWED THIS TO ME AND MADE ME PROMISES FOR THE FUTURE. THEY PROMISED TRUTH FOR THE WORLD. AND THEY PLEDGED ME A VOICE. NOW MAY I HAVE IT?” I’M BREATHING A LITTLE HEAVY NOW. IN THE BREATHY SILENCE I CAN HEAR THE TICKING AND MORE SIPPING. THE SMELL OF BROWN MUSHROOMS HAS GROWN. SHE SAYS, “AND WHAT DO YOU SUPPOSE YOU’LL DO IF YOU HAVE IT?” I AM SO EAGER THAT I CLOSE MY EYES TO STEADY MYSELF. I SAY, “IF YOU GIVE ME THE EYES OF THE WORLD, I’LL SHARE IT. I WANT TO INVITE OTHERS.” ANOTHER PAUSE. MORE TICKING AND THE ROT SMELL IS STRONGER…BUT IT ALSO HAS A BREATH OF FRESHLY TURNED EARTH, LIKE DURING PLANTING TIME…FALLOW GROUND. I CAN FEEL HER LOOKING ME UP AND DOWN. THEN SHE LEANS FORWARD AND I FEEL HER PRESS A LITTLE JAR INTO MY RIGHT HAND. THE GLASS OF THE JAR FEELS COOL. AS SHE LEANS BACK THE AIR WAFTS AROUND ME. I REALIZE THE PLANTING SMELL IS COMING FROM HER. THEN I SENSE/HEAR HER STAND AND SHE SAYS, “ALRIGHT, THEN. WE’LL HAVE IT HAPPEN TONIGHT. WILL THAT DO?” “OH,” I SAY, “THAT WILL DO!” “FINE THEN.” AND NOW SHE’S USHERING ME BACK DOWN HER HALL AND OUT THE DOOR. I CROSS THE THRESHOLD AND THERE’S A SLIGHT SHIVER THAT COMES BETWEEN MY THIGHS. THERE’S A FAINT TINGLE. I PRESS MY HAND BETWEEN MY LEGS BECAUSE FOR A MOMENT I THINK I MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO STAND IT. THEN IT LEAVES AND I FEEL WET AND WEAK.

I TURN TO THANK HER, BUT SHE STOPS ME BEFORE I CAN SAY MUCH, AND SHE SAYS INSTEAD, “THAT LEAVES YOU A LONG NIGHT TONIGHT FOR ALL THE WORK.” “YES,” I SAY, “I KNOW THAT.”

BY THE TIME I’VE SUMMONED ANOTHER CAB AND MADE IT BACK HOME IT’S JUST BEFORE 7.

I TAKE A GLASS OF WATER FROM THE KITCHEN. I’VE BEEN CLUTCHING THE JAR THE ENTIRE RIDE HOME. I OPEN THE STOPPED AND SMELL IT. IT SMELLS LIKE MUSHROOMS. I TIP THE POWDER INTO THE WATER AND DRINK IT. AFTER THAT I OPEN THE LIVING ROOM WINDOW SO THAT THE MOONLIGHT CAN STREAM IN. I DON’T BOTHER WITH ANY LIGHTS. THEY DON’T DO ME MUCH GOOD ANYMORE ANYWAY. BUT AFTER THE ECLIPSE I FEEL LIKE LIGHT IS SOMETHING THAT I CAN ACTUALLY FEEL ON MY SKIN. I DON’T HAVE TO SEE IT TO KNOW THAT IT’S FLOODED UP THE ROOM. I LAY DOWN ON THE CARPET AND FEEL THE GRAVITY GENTLY TUG ME DOWN AGAINST THE FLOOR. I CAN FEEL THE POWDER WORKING. THE MOONLIGHT SLOWLY BEGINS TO COAT ME LIKE WARM HONEY. I PART MY LEGS AND STRETCH OUT MY ARMS TO EITHER SIDE SO THAT I CAN BE COMPLETELY COVERED. AS I LAY THERE I CAN HEAR THE CELESTIAL VOICES BEGIN TO WHISPER TO ME AGAIN. THEIR DEWEY WORDS AND BREATHY PHRASES FLUTTER IN MY EARS LIKE MOTH WINGS. NOW MY LEGS ARE TWISTING AND I TURN MY FEET SIDE TO SIDE. WHEN IT FINALLY ARRIVES THE DELICIOUS RING OF LIGHT HEATS MY SKIN UNTIL I GASP AND HEAVE AND SIGH WITH NO SHAME AND A TOTAL EMPTYING. WHEN I FINISH I LAY ON THE FLOOR FOR A WHILE LONGER AND FEEL MYSELF VIBRATE. I SENSE THE SHADOWS OF CLOUDS MOVE ACROSS MY FACE. I AM BREATHING DEEPLY. AS I SAID, I DON’T MUCH BOTHER WITH THE LIGHTS ANYMORE. THAT WILL ALL CHANGE AFTER TOMORROW. I SMILE. I SIT DOWN AT MY DESK AND FUMBLE FOR THE LAPTOP SWITCH. I SENSE THE SOFT GLOW OF THE MONITOR ACROSS MY FINGERS. AS MY OUTER SIGHT DIMINISHES, I AM BEING GIVEN AN EXPANDED INWARD VIEW. AND TONIGHT MS. JERUSHA IS PROMISING ME THE EYES AND EARS…OF THE WORLD. I HAVE THOUGHT THROUGH ALL MY WORDS. AND HER JAR HAS GIVEN ME THE TONGUES OF ALL THE NATIONS. THERE IS ONLY ONE UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE TONIGHT. I ADJUST MY SCREEN. I BLINK MY EYES. I OPEN A PORTAL. I SMILE. I BEGIN TO SPEAK. A KIND OF RAPTURE HAS BEGUN.

ANGEL BLOSSOMS TW: PLANT VIOLENCE

THE PLANT WAS MASSIVE TAKING UP FAR TOO MUCH OF THE KITCHEN FOR MY LIKING. THE BODY OF THE PLANT SPROUTED A THICK ARRAY OF FIVE-PETALED BLOSSOMS SO WHITE AS TO BE BLINDING WHEN REFLECTING THE SUNLIGHT BEAMING THROUGH THE GLASS PATIO DOORS. NO POT EXISTED FOR THIS PLANT. IT SEEMED TO REST ON A SORT OF GASTROPOD BASE, A VIBRANT DARK GREEN, SNAIL-LIKE FOUNDATION OF A TYPE I’D NEVER SEEN BEFORE. AND THOUGH MY WIFE DIDN’T WANT TO HEAR MY COMPLAINTS, I’M CERTAIN THIS PLANT HATED ME FROM THE MOMENT SHE BROUGHT IT HOME FROM BENNETT’S NURSERY. “I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO GRAB SOME LANTANAS FOR THE FLOWER BED,” I SAID. “MAYBE ONE OF THOSE KNOCKOUT ROSE BUSHES YOU LIKE.” DANA SHRUGGED. “YOU SHOULD’VE COME WITH ME.” “IT WAS THE LAST DAY OF THE POP CULTURE EXPO. I WANTED TO GET FELISSA ROSE’S AUTOGRAPH AND STUFF. I COULDN’T MISS IT.” “WELL, YOU GOT YOUR COMIC BOOKS, AND I GOT MY FLOWERS.” I LOOKED AT THE PLANT AND, SO HELP ME GOD, THE PLANT WAS LOOKING RIGHT BACK AT ME. ITS MYRIAD BLOSSOMS FACED ME, ANYWAY. THERE WAS A SENSE OF MOVEMENT BEHIND THOSE PRISTINE WHITE PETALS. VINES, PERHAPS, LIKE ARTERIES, SHIFTING, EXPANDING, AND CONSTRICTING, AS IF THE DAMN THING WERE ALIVE. OR, YOU KNOW, MORE ALIVE THAN YOUR BASIC, GARDEN VARIETY HOUSE PLANT. “WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING?” “IT’S AN ANGEL BLOSSOM.” WAS IT MY IMAGINATION OR DID IT SHIFT ITS ATTENTION TOWARD DANA WHEN IT HEARD ITS NAME? “THEY DON’T COME AROUND VERY OFTEN,” DANA CONTINUED. “AND THERE’S NOT VERY MANY OF THEM WHEN THEY DO. SO, I HAD TO PICK ONE UP EVEN THOUGH IT’S KIND OF SPENDY, THOUGH, NOT SO MUCH WHEN COMPARED TO YOUR COMIC BOOKS.” “HEY! I’M NOT COMPLAINING. YOU WORK HARD FOR YOUR MONEY. I’M NOT BEGRUDGING YOU A THING. I’M JUST SAYING THIS ANGEL BLOSSOM, IT’S KINDA WEIRD LOOKING.” “THAT’S WHAT GIVES IT ITS CHARM. I THINK IT’S BEAUTIFUL. YOU KNOW, ANGEL BLOSSOMS ARE WHAT GREW OUT OF THE RUINS OF SODOM AND GOMORRAH AFTER GOD SMOTE THOSE CITIES. THEY SAY ANGEL BLOSSOMS ARE A SYMBOL OF GOD’S INTOLERANCE FOR MAN’S IMMORALITY.”

“THEY SAID?” “BIBLICAL SCHOLARS.” I’D NEVER MET A BIBLICAL SCHOLAR. I DON’T THINK DANA EVER MET ONE, EITHER. BUT LIVING IN RURAL ALABAMA SURE BROUGHT US INTO CONTACT WITH A WHOLE BUNCH OF FOLKS WHO THOUGHT THEY WERE EXPERTS ON READING AND EXPOUNDING ON THE BIBLE. THE PLANT SETTLED INTO THE AREA BETWEEN THE REFRIGERATOR AND THE KITCHEN TABLE. DANA BABY-TALKED IT AS SHE SPRITZED ITS BLOSSOMS WITH A SPRAY BOTTLE. IT SEEMED TO PREEN UNDER THE ATTENTION. NO OTHER WAY TO PUT IT. THE PLANT HAD SWAGGER, SITTING THERE IN THE CORNER LIKE A KING HOLDING COURT. IF THE PLANT HATED ME, WHICH IT DID. I HATED IT, TOO. WHEN DANA FONDLED THE PETALS AND WHISPERED SWEETLY HOW BEAUTIFUL ITS BLOSSOMS WERE, HOW STRONG AND UPRIGHT AND SPLENDID THE PLANT WAS GROWING, I’D MAKE SURE TO FOLLOW UP (ONCE DANA WAS OUT OF EAR SHOT) WITH A “FUCK YOU, BITCH ASS PLANT.” THE FIRST TIME THE PLANT MOVED, LEGITIMATELY MOVED, IT MADE AN AGGRESSIVE MOTION TOWARD ME. AGGRESSIVE MOTION SEEMS LIKE SUCH A NON-BATSHIT CRAZY WAY OF SAYING THE PLANT CHASED ME AROUND THE HOUSE. I WASN’T EVEN THINKING ABOUT THE DAMN THING AT THE TIME. I’D RECENTLY CONTRACTED DIABETES TWO THROUGH A LIFETIME OF INNOCENTLY GOBBLING FIVE-POUND BAGS OF GUMMI BEARS AND AVOIDING SWEET TEAS WITH ANYTHING LESS THAN SIXTYFOUR GRAMS OF SUGAR PER SWALLOW. SO, I WAS RIFLING THROUGH THE FRIDGE FOR MY DELICIOUS SACK OF BABY CARROTS WHEN I HEARD A DISCONCERTING RUSTLE OF VEGETATION. I FROZE AND LISTENED. IF I WERE A SLIGHTLY BIGGER IDIOT, I COULD HAVE CONVINCED MYSELF THE SOUND ORIGINATED FROM OUTSIDE, BRANCHES MOBILIZED BY STRONG, STRAIGHT-LINE WINDS SCRAPING AND BRUSHING THE TIN ROOF. EXCEPT… THERE WAS NO WIND, NO TREES WITHIN ROOF’S REACH, AND THE ROOF WAS SHINGLED. I SLOWLY EDGED THE FRIDGE DOOR CLOSED AND THE SHAGGY BLOSSOMED SON OF A BITCH WAS RIGHT THERE, STRAINING FORWARD ON ITS GASTROPOD BASE LIKE A FLORAL BALLERINA. ITS UPPERMOST BLOSSOMS REACHED MY HEIGHT, SIX FOOT, TWO AND THREE QUARTER INCHES.

I JUMPED BACK, SPILLING MY SAD SNACKS ACROSS THE LINOLEUM. THE PLANT LURCHED FORWARD, UNDULATING ON ITS GREEN FOOT, BLOSSOMS TREMBLING WITH WHAT COULD ONLY BE PHOTOSYNTHETIC RAGE. IT PROJECTED A SIGHING SOUND WHICH MANIFESTED IN MY MIND AS A LANGUAGE I COULDN’T QUITE COMPREHEND THOUGH I INTUITED THIS SENTIENT PLANT WAS CALLING ME A DICK HEAD. AS IT MOVED, EXTENDING ITS HEIGHT, THE BLOSSOMS SEPARATED REVEALING THE DARK GREEN TENSILE VINES COMPRISING THE BULK OF ITS INTERIOR. THE FLOWERS SHIMMERED IN THE LIGHT ARRESTING MY ATTENTION. A VINE LASHED OUT AND SNAPPED PAST MY CHEEK WAKING ME FROM MY SUDDEN STUPOR. MY RETREAT TO THE BEDROOM WAS INSTANTANEOUS. IF I RAN ANY FASTER, I BELIEVE I WOULD HAVE TRAVELED BACKWARD IN TIME. THE SOUND OF ITS PURSUIT COULD HAVE BEEN MISTAKEN FOR A CADRE OF JANITORS FRANTICALLY SWEEPING THE HALLWAY WITH WHISK BROOMS. I SLAMMED THE BEDROOM DOOR AND SOUGHT A WEAPON TO DEFEND MYSELF. NOT BEING A GUN OWNER REALLY FUCKED ME THIS TIME AROUND. I HAD A CHOICE BETWEEN A BOTTLE OF VICTORIA SECRET HEAVENLY PERFUME, MEGADETH “PEACE SELLS…” ON VINYL, AND A FIVE-FOOT-TALL DIDGERIDOO THE WIFE PURCHASED FROM AN ABORIGINAL CRAFTSMAN DURING A TRIP TO MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA TWENTY YEARS AGO. SNAP DECISION, THE DIDGERIDOO WAS MY BEST CHOICE OF WEAPON. I FIGURED VERY SHORTLY WE’D SEE HOW THIS ANGEL BLOSSOM WOULD REACT TO GETTING THRASHED WITH WHAT AMOUNTED TO A MASSIVE, HOLLOW, WOODEN DICK. I PUT MY EAR TO THE DOOR. THE SOFT SIGHING THAT FELT MORE LIKE IT WAS INFILTRATING MY MIND RATHER THAN MY EARS, FADED. I COUNTED TO FIVE, STEELING MY NERVE, AND OPENED THE DOOR, LEADING WITH THE BLUE TIP OF THE DIDGERIDOO, READY TO CRAM IT WHERE I BELIEVED THE PLANT’S MAW TO BE. THE HALLWAY WAS DESERTED. ONLY TWO GREEN LEAVES AND A FALLEN PETAL, CURLED AND DISCOLORED LIKE DESICCATED INSECT HUSKS, MARKED THE PLANT’S PASSAGE. CHALKING THIS UP AS A VICTORY FOR THE GOOD GUY, I REPLACED THE DIDGERIDOO IN THE CORNER AND SAT ON THE EDGE OF THE BED. I HAD THIRTY MINUTES OF RELAXATION REMAINING BEFORE DANA RETURNED FROM WORK. I THOUGHT ABOUT THOSE CARROT STICKS STREWN ACROSS THE FLOOR AND HOW I MIGHT HAVE RETURNED AND CHALLENGED THE ANGEL BLOSSOM FOR THE SNACKS IF THEY HAD BEEN GUMMI BEARS.

ONCE DANA RETURNED HOME, THE ADRENALINE RUSH HAD WORN OFF AND I BEGAN QUESTIONING, NOT SO MUCH MY SANITY, AS TO HOW I MIGHT HAVE MISINTERPRETED WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN A PLAY OF SHADOWS ON THE PLANT AS A SINISTER SURGE OF VEGETATION HELLBENT ON STRANGLING ME OUT WITH ITS PREHENSILE VINES. MAYBE, THE ENTIRE SITUATION WAS A HALLUCINATION BROUGHT ON BY THE TOTAL ABSENCE OF SUGAR IN MY DIET. I VENTURED OUT OF THE BEDROOM. SEEING THE ANGEL BLOSSOM HULKING BESIDE THE REFRIGERATOR WITH ITS STARK WHITE BLOSSOMS ARRAYED AGAINST ME REKINDLED MY FEARS. “WHAT’D YOU DO WITH YOUR DAY?” DANA ASKED AS SHE POURED A GLASS OF EXTREMELY SWEETENED TEA. I STOPPED PREPARING THE LEMON PEPPER SEASONED SALMON. “YOUR PLANT ATTACKED ME TODAY,” I SAID SULLENLY. “OH YEAH?” “I WAS GOING TO FIGHT IT WITH YOUR DIDGERIDOO, BUT IT RAN AWAY.” DANA LAUGHED AT THIS. “YOU’RE SO CRAZY. YOU CRACK ME UP.” I LOOKED AT THE ANGEL BLOSSOM. IT STOOD STOCK STILL. SEEING ME SIDE-EYEING THE DEMON PLANT, DANA ARCHED AN EYEBROW. “YOU DON’T HAVE NOTHING TO BE NERVOUS ABOUT, BABY. HISTORICALLY, ANGEL BLOSSOMS ONLY EVISCERATE IMMORAL MEN.” DANA AND I MAINTAINED EYE CONTACT, BUT IN MY PERIPHERY, I COULD SEE THE PLANT SMUGLY NOD ITS BLOSSOMS. “WELL, THEN, NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT HERE,” I SMILED. “YOU SURE? IF I LOOK IN YOUR PHONE I WON’T FIND YOUR ARM AROUND THE WAIST OF A CERTAIN NO-TALENT, HAS-BEEN SCREAM QUEEN WHO HASN’T BEEN RELEVANT IN HORROR MOVIES SINCE THE NINETEEN EIGHTIES?” “IF YOU HAD KEPT ON LOOKING, YOU’D SEE ME IN PICTURES WITH MICK FOLEY, THE FANTASTIC CHARACTER ACTOR DAVE SHERIDAN, THE KID FROM WALKING DEAD… AND SHE AIN’T A HAS-BEEN, OR EVEN REALLY A SCREAM QUEEN, AND SHE’S STILL RELEVANT IN THE HORROR COMMUNITY.”

“SHE HAD HER MOUTH OPEN LIKE SHE’S READY FOR DICK.” “THAT’S HER SIGNATURE POSE FROM SLEEPAWAY CAMP! SHE DOES THAT EXPRESSION FOR EVERY FAN SELFIE. AND I REFUSE TO BELIEVE THAT PLANT CHASED ME AROUND THE HOUSE CAUSE I POSED FOR PICTURES WITH FELISSA ROSE.” “WELL, I REFUSE TO BELIEVE MY BEAUTIFUL ANGEL BLOSSOM CHASED YOU ANYWHERE.” “WELL, IT DID.” “IS THE SALMON CLOSE TO BEING DONE?” “IT IS. I JUST GOT TO BOIL SOME RICE.” LATER, AFTER A MOSTLY SILENT DINNER, WHILE WE WERE LYING ON THE COUCHES READING, DANA DECIDED TO CONTINUE THE CONVERSATION. “I’M SURPRISED YOU AIN’T TRIED TELLING ME MY PLANT IS AN ALIEN.” WHILE IT DID OCCUR TO ME THIS ANGEL BLOSSOM COULD HAVE BEEN VENUSIAN IN ORIGIN, I KEPT THIS THEORY TO MYSELF. MY INTEREST IN THE ANCIENT ALIENS TELEVISION SHOW WAS A POINT OF CONTENTION IN OUR RELATIONSHIP. DANA HATED IT. I CONSIDERED THE POSSIBILITY OF AN ALIEN HAND IN THE CREATION OF THE GREAT PYRAMID, MACHU PICCHU, STONEHENGE, THE NAZCA LEY LINES, THE ORIGINS OF FARMING AND THE DOMESTICATION OF ANIMALS, SAMURAI SWORDS, MICROPROCESSORS, AND STEALTH TECHNOLOGY TO BE HIGHLY PLAUSIBLE. DANA CONSIDERED MY OPEN-MINDEDNESS TO BE A CHARACTER FLAW. WHEN CONFRONTED WITH THE MYSTERY OF THE TEMPLE OF THE FEATHERED SERPENT IN TEOTIHUACAN WITH ITS POOLS OF LIQUID MERCURY AND HARD VOLCANIC ROCK CUT WITH LASER PRECISION, DANA INVARIABLY RELATED AN EXPERIENCE DURING HER VACATION IN BALI WHERE SHE WATCHED ARTISANS CARVE ELABORATE TEAKWOOD LOUNGE CHAIRS USING ONLY THE SHARP SHARDS OF BROKEN COKE BOTTLES. NEVER DISMISS THE SUPERIOR INGENUITY OF MAN BEING THE LESSON SHE WISHED TO IMPART. “I’M NOT SAYING IT’S ALIEN,” I DEFENDED MYSELF. “BUT YOU HAVE TO ASK YOURSELF, IS IT A POSSIBILITY THIS PLANT ORIGINATED SOMEWHERE OTHER THAN EARTH? ANCIENT ASTRONAUT THEORISTS SAY YES.” “MY WORD, YOU’RE MADDENING, YOU KNOW THAT?”

LATER STILL, DANA FELL ASLEEP FIRST. I WAS GETTING THERE, STRETCHED OUT WITH THE LATEST JOE R LANSDALE NOVEL BUTTERFLIED ACROSS MY CHEST. I NEVER FEEL AS GOOD AS I DO ON THE PRECIPICE OF SLEEP, EYELIDS DROOPING, BREATH DEEPENING. AND THAT’S WHEN THE PLANT DECIDED TO FUCK WITH ME AGAIN. MY EYES SNAPPED OPEN WITH THE SOUND OF FOLIAGE SCRAPING AGAINST LINOLEUM. BITCH ASS PLANT TRYING TO GET THE DROP ON ME. THE STREET LIGHT FILTERING THROUGH THE BLINDS ON THE FRONT ROOM WINDOWS ILLUMINATED TWIN BLOSSOMS LIKE GLOWING EYES PEERING OVER THE BACK OF THE COUCH. I COULDN’T QUIT STARING AT THOSE BLOSSOMS UNTIL A SET OF VINES WENDED THROUGH THE BOTTOM COUCH CUSHIONS AND ROPED AROUND MY THROAT. I QUICK WORKED MY HAND BETWEEN VINE AND NECK BEFORE THE DAMN THING COULD TIGHTEN ITS GRIP. I KICKED MY LEGS OUT SPASTICALLY, RESISTING THE VINES’ ATTEMPTS TO ENVELOPE MY LOWER BODY. THE VINE AROUND MY THROAT RATCHETED ITS GRIP PINNING MY LEFT HAND AGAINST MY NECK. I FLAILED ABOUT WITH MY RIGHT HAND, TRYING TO WAKE DANA, BUT I COULDN’T SO MUCH AS SLAP HER COUCH. DESPERATE, I HEAVED FORWARD GRIPPING A BLOSSOM AND WRENCHING IT FREE FROM ITS FLORAL MOORING. ITS SCREAM WAS SHRILL AND REEDY AND I’M PRETTY SURE THE SOUND DIDN’T EXIST OUTSIDE MY MIND. I DROPPED THE SEVERED BLOSSOM AND TORE THE NEXT BLOSSOM LOOSE. THE VINE EASED ITS DEATH GRIP, AND I RIPPED THE VINE FROM MY THROAT. KEEPING A FIRM GRIP ON THE VINE, I ROLLED OFF THE COUCH AND YANKED THE LIMB FROM ITS BODY. THAT TOOK SOME OF THE FIGHT OUT OF THE PLANT, BUT I WASN’T DONE WITH THE SKIRMISH BY A LONG SHOT. I LEAPT OVER THE COUCH AND TACKLED THE ANGEL BLOSSOM. IT COLLAPSED BENEATH MY WEIGHT AS I WILDLY PUMMELED AND SHREDDED ITS DEFENSES. I STRADDLED THE PLANT, MY HANDS DUG THROUGH SOFT VEGETATION UNTIL MY FINGERS GROPED AGAINST ITS FIRM, ALMOST SKELETAL CORE. I WRAPPED MY HANDS AROUND THIS PULSATING INTERIOR AND BEGAN THROTTLING THE PLANT FOR ALL I WAS WORTH. BLOSSOMS CURLICUED OFF THE PLANT LIKE FLAKES OF ASH. CURLED PETALS LITTERED THE FLOOR. VINES WEAKLY TAPPED AGAINST MY HIPS AND SHOULDERS, LACKING THE STRENGTH TO FIND PURCHASE. ITS ODDLY COMMUNICATIVE SIGHS DEVOLVED INTO GASPING BLEATS. WHAT LIFE THIS ANGEL BLOSSOM POSSESSED; I COULD FEEL EBBING AWAY WITH ITS EVERY SPASM.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TO MY PLANT?” DANA HAD AWAKENED. SHE STOOD AT THE EDGE OF THE COUCH WITH HER FISTS BALLED, EYES BLAZING. I KNEELED THERE WITH THE PLANT LYING SUDDENLY COMATOSE BETWEEN MY LEGS. DISMEMBERED BLOSSOMS SURROUNDED ME. I FELT LIKE A CHILD WHO HAD JUST BEEN INTERRUPTED CREATING HIS MASTERPIECE IN MAGENTA CRAYON ON THE FRONT ROOM WALLS, A MIXTURE OF PRIDE AND ANXIOUS DREAD COATED IN A THICK VENEER OF IGNORANCE. “THAT’S IT,” SHE SAID. “I CAN’T TAKE THIS CRAZY SHIT ANYMORE. YOU NEED TO GO. YOU NEED TO PACK UP YOUR ACAPULCO SHIRTS AND GET OUT.” “BUT BABY… YOUR PLANT WAS TRYING TO KILL ME.” I SHOOK IT AND THERE WASN’T THE LEAST BIT OF RESISTANCE IN THE DAMN THING. “ALL THE MORE REASON. GET OUT.” NOW WOULD BE THE TIME TO MENTION, I DIDN’T HAVE A JOB, HAD BEEN BETWEEN JOBS SINCE ABOUT THE TIME I MET DANA. ALSO, EVEN THOUGH I OFTEN REFERRED TO DANA AS MY WIFE, WE WEREN’T CONVENTIONALLY MARRIED IN THE RELIGIOUS OR GOVERNMENTAL SENSE OF THE WORD. BEYOND THAT, I HAD NOWHERE TO GO. AFTER A FEW NERVOUS NIGHTS SLEEPING ON PARK BENCHES SURROUNDED BY ALL SORTS OF VEGETATION I FELT COULD GO MALEVOLENT AT A MOMENT’S NOTICE, I ENDED UP AT MY BROTHER’S APARTMENT WITH MY THIRTY VIBRANT SHIRTS STUFFED IN A GARBAGE BAG SLUNG OVER MY SHOULDER. PETE OFFERED UP HIS COUCH AND I SETTLED IN. HER POURED US A ROUND OF JAGERBOMBS TO START THINGS OFF. “PETE, YOU KNOW I GOT THE DIABETES.” “IT’S OKAY. I CAUGHT THE WILFORD BRIMLEY DISEASE, MYSELF. IT’LL BE OKAY. I USED THE SUGAR FREE RED BULL.” “REALLY?” “HELL, NO. SUGAR JUST TASTES BETTER. AND DIABETES IS JUST A PRODUCT OF A WEAK MIND INVENTED TO EXPLAIN PAINS IN THE PANCREAS. NOW TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED.”

I TOLD HIM, LEAVING OUT EVERYTHING ABOUT THE ANGEL BLOSSOM WHICH, IT TURNED OUT, LEFT ME WITHOUT MUCH OF A STORY TO TELL. THAT WAS JUST FINE BY PETE. HE UNDERSTOOD HOW UNFAIR WOMEN COULD BE. A WEEK LATER, I WAS SITTING ON A LAWN CHAIR OUTSIDE HIS APARTMENT ENJOYING A MORNING CIGARETTE AND A NICE CUP OF MAXWELL HOUSE COFFEE SWEETENED WITH THREE SUGARS AND A SPLASH OF BAILEYS, WHEN THE NEIGHBOR NEXT DOOR, CYNTHIA, ARRIVED HOME FROM HER SHIFT AT THE HUDDLE HOUSE. WE INTRODUCED OURSELVES AND GOT TO TALKING AND SHE INVITED ME INTO HER PLACE FOR A REFRESHER ON THE COFFEE. I SAT AT HER KITCHEN TABLE WHILE SHE BREWED A POT. “HOW DO YOU TAKE YOUR COFFEE?” SHE ASKED. “WITH WHISKEY IF YOU GOT IT.” “I DON’T GOT IT. BUT I DO HAVE SOME DECENT WEED IF YOUR WANNA SMOKE OUT HERE IN A SEC.” “IT’S A LITTLE EARLY FOR THE MARIJUANA, BUT I GUESS I CAN MAKE AN EXCEPTION AT LEAST ONCE A DAY.” LIFE WAS GOOD. I LEANED BACK AND SURVEYED MY SURROUNDINGS. MY EYES IMMEDIATELY FELL UPON THE GIGANTIC ANGEL BLOSSOM DOMINATING THE BACK HALF OF HER LIVING ROOM. ITS BLOSSOMS REACHED THE CEILING. “WHAT THE FUCK?” “OH,” CYNTHIA SMILED, POURING THE COFFEE. “I SEE YOU NOTICED MY STAR BLOSSOM.” “STAR BLOSSOM?” “STAR BLOSSOM ON ACCOUNT OF THE WHITE BLOSSOMS SHAPED LIKE STARS. THEY SAY STAR BLOSSOMS ARE INDIGENOUS TO THE ROSWELL, NEW MEXICO AREA; THAT IT GREW FROM THE SOIL WHERE THE UFO WRECKAGE WAS FOUND.” “THEY?” “ANCIENT ASTRONAUT THEORISTS.” I LOOKED AT THE PLANT. THE PLANT LOOKED AT ME. ITS BLOSSOMS TREMBLED.

ACTION CITY

THE CLOCK AT LONDON EUSTON STATION BLINKS 19:59. I WAIT FOR THE LUMINOUS, GREEN DIGITS TO FLASH TO 20:00 THEN CHECK MY WATCH TOO. IT CONCURS. JESSICA WILL BE WAITING FOR ME ON PLATFORM SIX FOR THE TRAIN TO LIVERPOOL LIME STREET. I SUCK IN A DEEP BREATH THAT TASTES OF WARM PASTRY AND STALE PERFUME AND SQUEEZE THE HANDLE OF THE LEATHER HOLDALL I AM CARRYING. LIKE A RELIGIOUS CALLING, I’D KNOWN JESSICA WOULD CHANGE MY LIFE THE MOMENT I SAW HER DANCING ON THE PODIUM AT FRANTIC DISCO. THE WAY HER LEGS GRIP A POLE IS LIKE WATCHING A PYTHON IN ITS PRIME. MAN, THAT BODY IS A GIFT. A MESSAGE FROM TONY BUZZES UP ON MY PHONE: WHERE IS SHE, YOU PIECE OF SHIT. I SNEER AND BRUSH INVISIBLE FLUFF FROM MY LAPEL. ANOTHER BUZZ. YOU’RE FINISHED. ACTION CITY IS FINISHED. YOUR LIFE AS A CLUB OWNER IS FINISHED. WANT TO KNOW HOW TO RUN A CLUB? COME OVER TO FRANTIC DISCO. THE PUNTERS KNOW THE BEST PLACE TO GO FOR A GOOD TIME. YOU TAKE MY CLUB. I TAKE YOUR WOMAN, I RESPOND. MY FINGERS ITCH TO ADD ‘AND YOUR CASH’. INSTEAD, I SHOVE MY PHONE IN MY COAT POCKET. A LOUD, MUFFLED VOICE ANNOUNCES OVER THE LOUDSPEAKER THAT BOARDING IS OPEN FOR THE DEPARTURE OF THE 20:20 GLASGOW TRAIN FROM PLATFORM 15. AROUND ME, PEOPLE WITH BRIEFCASES RUSH PAST, LADIES WITH PRAMS FIDDLE WITH BAGS AND BOTTLES, AND A DARK-HAIRED COUPLE IN PUFFER JACKETS KISS WITH UNABASHED ABANDON IN THE CENTRE OF THE CONCOURSE. NO-ONE SPARES A GLANCE AT THE WELL- DRESSED BLOND MAN IN SHINY, BLACK OXFORDS AND A BURBERRY COAT; LONDON IS FULL OF MEN WHO LOOK JUST LIKE ME. ANOTHER MUFFLED ANNOUNCEMENT: THE TRAIN FOR LIVERPOOL LIME STREET WILL BE DEPARTING SOON. I CAN IMAGINE JESSICA WAITING FOR ME ON THE PLATFORM, TWO-STEPPING IN ANTICIPATION OF THAT BRUSH OF FABRIC ON HER CALVES AS SHE SLIPS INTO THE SEAT, THE FIZZ ON HER TONGUE FROM THE COMPLIMENTARY GLASS OF PROSECCO. ‘I’LL BRING TONY’S CASH,’ I HAD TOLD HER IN THE DIM LIGHT OF THE OFFICE, BACK AT MY CLUB. ‘YOU GO PACK SOME THINGS AND I’LL MEET YOU ON THE PLATFORM.’ ‘FIRST CLASS?’ SHE’D ASKED, EYES WIDE AND INVITING.

‘OF COURSE,’ I’D REPLIED WITH A WINK, GRABBING HER BY THE WAIST AND DEVOURING HER MOUTH WITH MINE UNTIL SHE GASPED. WHEN I RELEASED HER, A TELL-TALE SMEAR OF RED LIPSTICK DISRUPTED THE UNBLEMISHED PERFECTION OF HER FLUSHED CHEEKS. ‘OH, JOE,’ SHE HAD PURRED. SHE IS A NICE GIRL, I THINK. I PULL MY PHONE FROM MY POCKET, THE THOUGHT OF HER SOFT SKIN AGAINST MINE SENDING LUSTFUL VIBRATIONS THROUGH MY BODY. I TAP OUT THREE WORDS AND HIT THE BLUE ARROW. SHE’S AT EUSTON PLATFORM SIX. MAYBE IN ANOTHER LIFE, WE COULD HAVE HAD SOMETHING REALLY GOOD TOGETHER, BUT I DON’T NEED HER NOW. THE ONLY RELATIONSHIP I HAVE EVER NEEDED IS WITH THE BRICKS OF CASH IN THE BAG, SOFT AND HEAVY AT MY SIDE. I TIGHTEN MY GRIP ON THE HANDLE AND HEAD FOR PLATFORM 15.

STARLIT STARLET TW: NSFW

ONCE, I WAS RUSHED OFF-STAGE. KEPT OFF-SET. STARED INTO THE MIRROR, WILLING IT TO TURN INTO A CAMERA. I PLAYED DIRECTOR. RAISED CURTAINS. SET THE MARKS OF EVERY ACTOR. I MADE BELIEF FROM DREAMS, LEARNED CONTROL & ITS LACK. I LEARNED HOW TO BEND A BODY BENEATH MY WILL. I SAW MYSELF & EXPECTED ANOTHER. I PAINTED ANOTHER TO RESEMBLE MYSELF. I CALLED THE SHOTS, IF ONLY MY OWN. I FIRED THE DIRECTOR, FOUND A REPLACEMENT. I SET FIRE TO THE COSTUMES THEN PERFORMED NAKED. MISSED PRODUCTION DEADLINES, THOUGHT I HELD A KISS OF LIFE. THOUGHT PRODUCER MEANT MAGICIAN AS IN, MADE MONEY APPEAR. LOOKED TO THE STARS & SAW ONLY WONDER. DREAMT OF THE SUN & FELT SO MUCH NOTHING.

WOKE TO SKY SPREAD OUT ABOVE ME & FELT THE MOST DELICIOUS FORM OF SMALL. SMALL, INSIGNIFICANT. SMALL, UNNOTICEABLE. SMALL, WORTHY OF EYES LAID ON ME. SMALL, MAKING IT EASY TO ESCAPE. I PERFORMED MY OWN STUNTS. MISSED CASTING CALLS & CALLBACKS & READBACKS & PERFORMANCES. I LEARNED THE EXTENT OF MY WILL THEN PASSED IT. I SAW THE STARS & MADE ONE MYSELF. CRIED STAGE MAKEUP UNTIL MY CHEEKS WERE RAW LOOKED STRAIGHT INTO THE STAGELIGHT SO LONG I SAW DOUBLE, ME & EVERY ME I’D DREAMT OF. I SCREAMED UNTIL MY CONTRACT WAS RENEWED. WHINED UNTIL THE CROWD ECHOED MY RESENTMENT. I SPREAD RUMORS ABOUT MY OWN SORDID PAST. KISSED THE PAPARAZZI IN FULL VIEW OF THEIR CAMERAS. TONGUED A WIFE WHILE HER HUSBAND CRIED. NO, THE SPOTLIGHT WAS NOT ALWAYS MINE.

SELF-PORTRAIT AS PARASOCIAL RELATIONSHIP TW: NSFW

IT’S NOT THAT I BELIEVE IN MYSELF JUST THAT IF I WANTED TO BE FAMOUS I’D SWEEP. CUTE ENOUGH TO BE A CHILD STAR, TOO POOR TO DRIVE. CAN’T CRY ON COMMAND BUT I’D KILL THE AUDITIONS. VAGUE ENOUGH TO BE MISUNDERSTOOD SHOWY ENOUGH PEOPLE WANT TO KNOW ME. OP-EDS ON THE FRONT PAGE ABOUT MY PROBLEMATIC PERSONALITY. IF HUGH WAS STILL ALIVE I’D BE A CUM STAINED CENTERFOLD. MY LIFE’S REGRET IS NOT BEING BORN BEFORE QUAALUDES. SPENT PRIDE FLAGGING AND HUNTING DOWN POPPERS. LIFE’S SPENT WAITING FOR SOMETHING BETTER TO FIND ME. TROPHY HUSBAND4TROPHY HUSBAND. IF SEEKING DIDN’T SUCK I’D BE BACK THERE SUCKING FOR MONEY. I ALREADY DO IT FOR FREE. THE BOYS ON THE APPS ALL WANT ME. I’M ARM CANDY. BOTTLE BLOND. BUBBLEGUM DUMB. I HAVE A CHANDELIER SHINING BUT HALF THE BULBS BURNT OUT.

I KNOW HOW TO SCORE BUT NOT KEEP TRACK. THERE’S AN APP FOR TRACKING ME BUT YOU HAVE TO WORK TO FIND IT. KEEP CHAMPAGNE READY TO POP WHILE YOU LICK THE FIZZ FROM MY TONGUE. PARIS PINK AND FIONA WINGED. MY LAP DOG’S A PRETTY BOY ON A HEAVY CHAIN. I WEAR SILK TO SLEEP AND DON’T SWEAT THROUGH IT. NO RUNS IN MY PANTYHOSE NO PANTIES FOR MY PUSSY. I KISS PAPARAZZI WITH TEETH TEAR MAGAZINES TO SHREDS. BALCONY OVERLOOKING THE SHORE OF NEW JERSEY. I WAS MADE FOR SPEAKEASIES AND PROSTS’ PRIME. THERE’S A LINE WAITING TO LICK MY PLEASERS. ANOTHER OVER COLLARBONE CRUSHED MOLLY CLOGGING NOSTRILS. THE MOMENT PASSED I DIDN’T CATCH IT. I’M SERVING CUNT BUT NOT MY COUNTRY. THERE’S A PEARL INSIDE ME WAITING TO BE SPAT OUT. MY BOYTOY SHUCKS OYSTERS

AND I EAT THEM ONE BY ONE. MY LIPS ARE WET LEMON PUCKERED. I’M SWEET LIKE CANDY SLOW LIKE HONEY. I’M UNDONE BY STARDOM SUCKING YOUR THUMB LIKE A DUMB CHILD.

SNUFF ST R TW: NSFW

THE END OF THE WORLD HAS TO WAIT I HAVEN’T GOTTEN ENOUGH MILEAGE OUT OF MY FAKE NAME YET I GET MY THRILLS / FROM BLUE LIGHT SPILLING OVER EVERYTHING / SOUNDTRACK LIKE REAL LIFE / REAL LIFE LIKE SOMETHING YET TO BE LIVED EATING EACH SYLLABLE / LEAVING THE PRETTIEST LITTLE SMOKE TRAIL ALL EMPTY LIGHT / IT’S NOT ROMANTIC I’M SIMPLY STRANGE ARE YOU READY TO GIVE UP ON ME? MY MIND BECAME SLIPPERY I’M HARD TO HOLD ONTO SAY YOU WON’T LEAVE ME ON READ / WORDLESSLY RUNNING MY MOUTH I THINK IRONY TASTES LIKE SUGAR / KEPT AS A SAFETY MEASURE I FEEL PRESSURED / TO GIVE YOU INCOMMUNICABLE TRUTH SUCCESSOR TO A CULT OF DESIRE I AM SWATHED IN LOVE AND AT ODDS WITH THE NORM / YOUR EX SAYS MY NAME LIKE THEY’VE KNOWN ME FOREVER

LOSS OF SELF AS SACRIFICE I AM ONLY AS REAL AS I MAKE YOU BELIEVE OWNERSHIP IS OUTDATED LICKING SWEAT OR CUM FROM SKIN LEAVING WET SPOTS / MORE SANS DESPERATION MY SUFFERING CAN BE MADE BEAUTIFUL IT’S YOUR JOB TO BUILD THE WORLD

DEVIL I KNOW WANTS THE ANGEL I DON'T TW: NSFW

ON MY HIP THERE’S A BEE OUTLINED BY BARBED WIRE JUST KIDDING I DON’T HAVE MONEY FOR THE BLASTOVER I DRANK THE DAY AWAY YEARS LATER ITS BLEEDING FRIENDS ARE JUST PEOPLE YOU CHOOSE TO SPEND YOUR LIFE WITH LOVERS ARE JUST PEOPLE YOU CHOOSE TO SPEND YOUR LIFE WITH HUSBANDS ARE JUST PEOPLE YOU CHOOSE TO DIVORCE WHEN THE TIME IS RIGHT I WAS BORN TO BE PAID ALIMONY I WAS RAISED TO SEEK A SETTLEMENT CROSSED STATE LINES IN A TESLA TOOK PICTURES FOR THE GRAM PRETENDED TO BE SOMEONE I COULD BE BUT I’M NOT MOMENT’S GONE I’M FISTING ITS MEMORY I HAVE A SEVERE PERSONALITY LOVE ME OR HATE ME YOU’RE THINKING ABOUT ME I’M CRAWLING INTO YOUR DREAMS I’M SLIPPING OUT OF YOUR BED I’M CHASING DAYLIGHT AND NIGHTLIGHTS AND GOOD TIMES GOOD FOR NOTHING DEADBEAT DAD I’LL STEP DOWN I’LL ACQUIESCE I’LL TAKE THE PATERNITY TEST I’LL MOURN MAURY I WAS MADE FOR DAYTIME TV PLAYBOY BUNNY I’M A BOUNCY BABY ENERGIZER TRIPLE D CUNTY COUNTY FAIR FIRST PRIZE TEDDY I’M A LOBOTOMY WAITING TO HAPPEN I’M ON A WAITING LIST FOR SHOCK THERAPY I’M WRITING THE SAME POEM UNTIL I RETIRE

I’M A QUARTER CENTURY OLD WAITING FOR TIME TO CLAIM ME I’M A PRECIOUS STONE W/O THE MINING I WANT TO BE WANTED UNTIL IT’S MENTIONED THEN I WANT TO BE GOOD AND ALONE DEAD IN THE WATER PUNCTURED LUNGS SINKING BODY I’M COVERED IN ALGAE I’M WAITING ON PRAZOSIN WALKING THE TIGHTROPE PAINTED CLOWN PINK TAILS AND A BIGTOP PIGTAILS AND PRETTY PINK PUSSY POPPING I’M PREENING FOR THE AUDIENCE CLAPPING FOR MYSELF BATTING EYES IN THE MIRROR NOT ALONE JUST LONELY NOT A POET JUST PRETTY

TWINK DEATH TW: NSFW

DUMBED MYSELF DOWN ON PURPOSE TO LOOK HOT & NOW I AM. IT’S A CHOICE. MY DAD SAYS I HAVE A BIMBO BRAIN, TURN ON & OFF. NOT MY DEAD DAD, THE OTHER ONE. HE’S RIGHT, BUT HE’S WRONG & HE’D DISAGREE. I WANT TO EXPERIENCE TWINK DEATH THIS YEAR BUT FIRST I’D HAVE TO TRANSITION. I KNOW OZEMPIC’S OVER BUT I’VE STILL GOT SOME IN MY FRIDGE. MY DERMATOLOGIST HAS HANDOUTS FOR PLASTIC SURGERY & I CAN’T GET THE IDEA OF PERFECTION OUT OF MY SILLY LITTLE HEAD. TEDDY CALLED IT LOADING THE BASES. THERE WAS A JOKE THERE. IT MISSED.

GORE

TW: MUTILATION

THIS IS NOT A HORROR STORY, BUT WHEN I THINK BACK ON IT, MY STOMACH TWISTS. MY BLOOD DILUTES TO YELLOW BILE AND MY BONES CURL LIKE MOISTENED STRIPS OF PAPER. MOSTLY BECAUSE I’LL NEVER KNOW WHAT WAS TRULY HAPPENING, AND THEREFORE I CANNOT GIVE IT AN OFFICIAL GENRE, BUT FEAR IS THE FIRST INSTINCT THAT COMES SPUTTERING IN MY STOMACH WHEN I’M PRESENTED WITH LOOSE ENDS. PERHAPS I ONLY DIDN’T KNOW HOW THE WORLD IN FRONT OF ME WAS SET UP YET, AND OF COURSE I WISH I COULD’VE KNOWN, BUT I WAS TOO YOUNG TO OWN THE ANALYTICAL LENS TO CLOAK OVER MY BRAIN THAT COULD TELL ME WHAT SPECIFIC STRANGE BEHAVIORS TO LOOK FOR, WHICH ONES WE HUMANS HAVE DECIDED AREN’T ALLOWED IN A GOOD PLACE. I ALSO WASN’T SURE WHAT TO EXPECT, OR WHAT WAS EXPECTED OF ME AS OFFSPRING. NOW, I’M LEFT WITH ALL THE PIECES, FOGGED AND MISSHAPEN. UGLY. UNCLE VALENTINO USED TO COME STAY WITH US IN THE SUMMERS. EVERY MEMORIAL DAY, HE BURST IN THROUGH THE FOYER WITH A CLANGING WHITE STEEL BRIEFCASE AND A BRAID OF DIFFERENT BAG STRAPS DOWN HIS ARM, THEIR CONTENTS RUBBING UP AGAINST THE HARDWOOD FLOOR. HE HAD A CAVERNOUS, DISTINCT VOICE, THE KIND YOU COULD HEAR THRUMMING IN YOUR SKULL WITHOUT IT BEING ACTIVELY PRESENT, AND COOL BLACK SUNGLASSES. HIS DOUBLE CHIN WAS A RING OF FAT BUNCHED AROUND THE CIRCUMFERENCE OF HIS NECK, HIS PLANET OF A HEAD SLIPPING IT OFF LIKE A CRINOLINE. EVERYTHING, FROM HIS TROUSERS IRONED TO PERFECTION TO HIS WAFFLE WEAVE HENLEY, WAS THE COLOR OF GOAT MILK. UNDER A NETTING OF SWEAT BEADS, THE MAN WAS QUITE PRISTINE, WELL-IRONED. HIS SKIN WAS TANNED, AND HE BLEACHED WHAT WAS LEFT OF HIS HAIR, SLICKED BACK OVER HIS SCALP. I REMEMBER IMAGINING MY FINGERNAIL FORK INTO THE SHINING FAT AT THE TOP OF HIS HEAD, SQUISHING IT IN LIKE DOUGH BEFORE I DUG THE CHUNK OF SKIN OUT. I WOULD BRIEFLY CONSIDER INTRODUCING MY TONGUE TO THE TASTE OF PINK HUMAN MEAT, AS IT IS SUCH A RARE, WILD THING TO COME ACROSS IN THIS WAY THAT DIDN’T THROTTLE ME TOWARD MY OWN MORAL OR LEGAL DEMISE, BECAUSE THERE WASN’T A LARGE ENOUGH HEAP OF CARRION LEFT BEHIND TO MEAN ANYTHING BAD, AND NOBODY WOULD KNOW EXCEPT FOR ME AND UNCLE VALENTINO. I COULD’VE BEEN ONE OF THE FEW PEOPLE THAT’VE EVER DONE SUCH A THING, AND THAT THRILLED ME FOR SOME REASON. THEN, I WOULD SNAP OUT OF IT AND DISCARD THE FLESH WITH A SIMPLE, INNOCENT APOLOGY. I’M ONLY BRAVE IN SOLITUDE, BUT IF UNCLE VALENTINO WOULD’VE TURNED AND FOUND MY FINGER IN MY MOUTH, I DO THINK HE WOULD’VE FORGIVEN ME. THE AMBIGUITY OF HIS BRIEFCASE’S CONTENTS FRIGHTENED ME. IT LINGERED AS A CLOUD OF CARBON DIOXIDE UNDER EACH BREATH I TOOK IN THE HOUSE WITH HIM. ALL OF THOSE PARTS, HOW AND WHY DID THEY GO TOGETHER? I PICTURED THE INSIDE OF MY ABDOMEN, THE KNOT OF SLIMY, BLOODY ORGANS; THE ILLUSION OF A MESS, YET ALL OF IT IN THE PRECISE PLACE IT HAS TO BE.

BUT WHY DID HE NEED IT? WHY DID IT HAVE TO COME WITH HIM HERE? MY MOTHER HAD TOLD ME THAT HE WORKED AS THE PERSON WHO GAVE INMATES ON DEATH ROW LETHAL INJECTIONS, SO I COULD ONLY IMAGINE WHAT ELSE A MAN CAPABLE OF THAT FANCIED, AND FURTHER, WHAT MORE HE WAS CAPABLE OF HIMSELF.

WE LIVED IN A SEASIDE COTTAGE BUILT ENTIRELY OF WHITE BRICK, TRAPPED IN A MEADOW OF SWITCHGRASS AND YARROW THAT WAS ONLY SPLIT BY A MILE-LONG, PRIVATE, IVORYPEBBLED DRIVE. A FEW CLUSTERS OF RED HOT POKERS WERE LIKE FIRES BURNING IN THE FIELD, AND THE OCEAN WAS FIFTY YARDS FROM THE BACK PORCH ON THE OTHER END. THE HOUSE HAD THREE LARGE AWNINGS LIKE WINGS ON ITS SIDES, SO THE LIGHT WAS UNEVENLY DISTRIBUTED THROUGH ALL THE ROOMS. NO AREA WAS ILLUMINATED THE SAME DURING THE DAY. MY BEDROOM HAD A CONSTANT ECLIPSE OVER A QUARTER OF THE SPACE, THE KITCHEN WAS OBLITERATED WITH SUNSHINE, AND THE UPSTAIRS BATHROOM WAS ENTIRELY NOCTURNAL. THE HOUSE NORMALLY REEKED OF SALT, BUT AFTER UNCLE VALENTINO CAME, SOME STRAIN OF WET ROT ENGORGED THE AIR AND SHOVED THE FAMILIAR STING OUT OF MY NOSTRILS. THE SMELL OF HUMID RAIN SUSTAINED ITSELF INSIDE THE HOUSE. I HATED THIS, BECAUSE SO RAPIDLY AFTER HIS ARRIVAL I BEGAN TO FEEL LIKE I WASN’T IN MY OWN HOME, AND ON OUR RECLUSIVE LAND, I WAS FAR FROM ANY ESCAPE. I WAS A STRANGER TO THE CONNECTION THE THREE OF THEM HELD, THE METAPHYSICAL ROPE OF MUTUAL UNDERSTANDING BINDING HIM TO MY PARENTS. I FELT REPLACED. UNCLE VALENTINO WAS PART OF OUR FAMILY LIKE I WAS, AND SO I HELD JUST AS MUCH SIGNIFICANCE AS HIM TO MY PARENTS; IN FACT, IT FELT LIKE I HELD LESS BECAUSE HE HAD BEEN AROUND FOR SO MUCH LONGER. I COULD NEVER BE QUITE AS LOVED. I WOULD EVENTUALLY COME TO HATE UNCLE VALENTINO AS WELL. HE SLEPT IN MY PARENTS’ ROOM. I THOUGHT THIS WAS STRANGE AS SOON AS HE DRAGGED HIS BELONGINGS INTO THE MASTER AFTER HE WALTZED IN ON THAT FIRST DAY, AS WE HAD A PERFECTLY VACANT GUEST ROOM TWO DOORS DOWN. I LIKED TO GO IN THERE TO READ WHEN MY PARENTS WERE HOSTING PARTIES DOWNSTAIRS AND MY BEDROOM SEEMED TO SUCK EVERY VOICE IN THROUGH THE VENT. I EYED MY MOTHER LEANING ON THE MARBLE ISLAND IN THE KITCHEN, BUT SHE FAILED TO MEET MY GAZE. I WATCHED MY FATHER TRAIL BEHIND MY UNCLE ONLY ASKING IF HE WANTED HELP UNPACKING, UNCONCERNED WITH WHERE, MAKING NO SLY EFFORTS TO REDIRECT HIS HOSPITALITY ELSEWHERE. REGARDLESS OF MY PARENTS, DIDN’T THE MAN WANT PRIVACY FOR HIMSELF ? CERTAINLY, HE HAD SOMETHING TO HIDE, AS EVERYONE DOES.

IN THE BEGINNING, I DID INQUIRE A FEW TIMES ABOUT HIS CIRCUMSTANCES OUT OF JUVENILE CURIOSITY, BUT EVENTUALLY I STOPPED ALTOGETHER. THE SUMMERS THAT IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWED, I WOULD BE ON THE BEACH WITH A GAIMAN NOVEL ALMOST CEASELESSLY TO GET AWAY FROM THEM. I WASN’T READY TO PULL THE ANGST’S KNIFE OUT OF MY THROAT AND WATCH ALL OF THE GORE SURGE OUT OF ME LIKE I AM NOW. I ASKED MY MOTHER, “WHY IS UNCLE VALENTINO SLEEPING WITH YOU GUYS?” TO WHICH SHE REPLIED, “THEY’RE BROTHERS, FABIAN! IT WOULD BE RUDE TO MAKE HIM STAY APART FROM US. WE WOULDN’T WANT HIM TO FEEL UNWANTED IN OUR HOME, WOULD WE?” THE DISQUIET THAT HAD BALLOONED IN MY RIBCAGE SURVIVED HER ANSWER, BUT I DROPPED IT. I FIGURED MY FATHER MUST ONLY BE CLOSE WITH HIS BROTHER AND WANTED TO BE WITH HIM ALL THE TIME. THE DISQUIET THAT HAD BALLOONED IN MY RIBCAGE SURVIVED HER ANSWER, BUT I DROPPED IT. I FIGURED MY FATHER MUST ONLY BE CLOSE WITH HIS BROTHER AND WANTED TO BE WITH HIM ALL THE TIME. WHAT DID I KNOW? I KNEW HOW EASILY CHILDREN COULD FORM INSEPARABLE BONDS WITH EACH OTHER. THERE WAS A PICTURE ON THE MANTEL IN OUR LIVING ROOM OF THEM AS TODDLERS WITH ICE CREAM MUSTACHES IN A WEST VIRGINIA CABIN. IT WOULD LATER MUTATE INTO AN ENVY OF MINE, THAT I COULDN’T TETHER MYSELF TO THEM IN THE SAME WAY OR BREAK THROUGH THEIR BINDING. I DIDN’T HAVE A SIBLING AND HAD TO ACCEPT THAT I WOULD NEVER KNOW WHAT THEY DID AS BROTHERS. BECAUSE THEY WERE BROTHERS. THE WORLD HAS NEVER CARRIED THE SAME BODY OF A RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN TWO PEOPLE TWICE, EACH EXPERIENCE IS DISTINCTIVE AND NO OUTSIDER LIKE MYSELF IS ABLE TO SEE ITS MOST MINUSCULE INNARDS, NO MATTER HOW SURE THEY ARE THAT THEY CAN. KNOWING THAT FACT MAY HAVE BEEN THE CLOSEST I EVER CAME TO UNDERSTANDING MY FAMILY, THOUGH I KNOW NOW THAT I NEVER WILL.

HIS FIRST NIGHT STAYING WITH US, I WOKE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT TO A JARRING BANG EXPLODE UNDERNEATH ME, FOLLOWED BY A WOMAN’S SHREWD CACKLE. IT WAS SIMILAR TO MY MOTHER’S USUAL LAUGHTER, BUT IT HAD A HIGHER TWANG IN ITS HEARTH. IRREGULAR OBJECTS WERE ROLLING BACK AND FORTH ACROSS THE FLOOR IN THEIR ROOM. I GOT OUT OF BED AND CREPT DOWN THE STAIRS, SKIPPING THE NINTH STEP THAT I KNEW WOULD GIVE ME AWAY. WHAT DID I HAVE TO BE HIDING FROM? TO BE SCARED OF ?

WHEN I REACHED THE BOTTOM STEP, MY PARENTS’ BEDROOM DOOR FLUNG OPEN AND MY MOTHER BOLTED OUT INTO THE HALLWAY’S AMBER LIGHT. SHE STOPPED WHEN SHE SAW ME AND HER ANKLE CRACKED. THE FRONT OF HER WHITE LINEN NIGHTGOWN WAS DRENCHED WITH BLOOD, A DARK CIRCLE OVER HER STOMACH. I NOTICED A CHUNK OF HER CHEEK WAS MISSING, AND WHEN MY EYES TRAVELED DOWN HER LANKY ARMS, HER WRISTS WERE FLUSHED PURPLE. THREE THIN STRANDS OF SKIN WERE FLAYED OFF THE BONE BEFORE EACH HAND, DANGLING LIKE PINCHED CHAINS. ALL OF HER MAKEUP WAS SMEARED AND HER DARK HAIR WAS RIPPED UP AROUND HER HEAD. MY HEART DROPPED, BUT MY MOTHER ONLY DREW A QUICK INHALE AND SMILED AT ME, AS IF NOTHING WAS WRONG AND HER WOUNDS WERE INVISIBLE. I YELPED, “MOM! WHAT HAPPENED? ARE YOU OKAY?” HER VOICE WAS DEEP AND COLD, DROWNING IN THE QUIET HOUSE’S REVERB. “OH MY, I’M SORRY HONEY, YOU WEREN’T SUPPOSED TO SEE THIS. THAT’S WHY WE DID IT AT NIGHT. WHAT ARE YOU DOING UP? I’M ALRIGHT, GO BACK TO BED.” SHE USHERED ME AWAY WITH HER HANDS WITHOUT MOVING FROM THE DOORWAY OF THE BEDROOM. THE SKIN AROUND HER WRISTS SWISHED. “WHY ARE YOU BLEEDING? THERE’S SO MUCH OF IT!” “IT’S NOT OURS, BABY. BUT I CAN’T TELL YOU ABOUT IT RIGHT NOW, ALRIGHT? YOU’RE TOO LITTLE TO UNDERSTAND. I’M SORRY. BACK TO BED NOW, GO ON.” HER NONCHALANCE IS WHAT SHUT ME OFF. SHE DIDN’T NOTICE HOW DISTURBED OR UPSET I WAS, OR CARE IF SHE DID. WE WERE NEVER CLOSE ENOUGH FOR ME TO HAVE THE CAPACITY TO START HOUNDING HER, AND I DON’T THINK MY FORBIDDEN INTEREST IN THEIR TABOO MOVEMENTS WOULD HAVE MATTERED IF SHE WOULD’VE KNOWN ABOUT IT PRIOR TO THIS DISCOVERY. I WASN’T BRAVE ENOUGH TO POTENTIALLY REVEAL THE ABERRANT DESIRES I HAD TO THE OUTER WORLD YET. FOR THEN, I RESOLVED THAT IT MUST HAVE BEEN NORMAL TO SEE SOMETHING LIKE THAT, AND IT JUST WASN’T FOR ME YET AT THAT AGE. IT WAS UP TO ME TO PICK UP ON LATER IN LIFE. I WENT BACK TO BED, TWISTING AND TURNING ALL THOUGH I DIDN’T HEAR ANY MORE NOISES COMING FROM THEIR ROOM. WAS IT GOOD MANNERS NOW, A DEMONSTRATION OF HOW I SHOULD ACT IN A COMPARABLE SITUATION, OR WAS IT SOMETHING THEY NEEDED TO MAKE SURE TO HIDE? I COULDN’T STOP ENGINEERING THEORIES OF WHAT THEY WERE DOING. MY MOTHER’S LAUGHTER RATTLED IN THE CORNERS OF MY SKULL. EVERY TIME I CLOSED MY EYES, THE OVAL OF HER GORE RAN AT ME, CLOSER AND CLOSER UNTIL IT STRETCHED OVER MY HEAD LIKE A MOUTH AND THE NEXT THING I KNEW, I WAS BATHING IN A GROTTO OF BILE AND GUTS

INITIALLY, I THOUGHT UNCLE VALENTINO HAD DONE SOMETHING TO HER, BECAUSE IT HAD BEEN SO OBVIOUS TO ME THAT SOMETHING HAD SHIFTED IN OUR HOUSE THE SECOND HE WALKED THROUGH THE DOOR. IT WAS THE MOST LOGICAL EXPLANATION FOR ANY FLUCTUATIONS TO OUR DYNAMIC. BUT HE WAS STILL THERE AFTER THAT. MY PARENTS DIDN’T KICK HIM OUT. THEY DIDN’T SEEM TO NOTICE OR CARE ABOUT HIS DISRUPTIONS, THEY WERE EMBRACING THEM. IF HER GORE WAS BECAUSE OF HIM, THE ACTUAL THING HE’D DONE MUST NOT HAVE BEEN SO BAD. I BEGAN TO SPECULATE: WHAT SITUATIONS CONTAIN BLOOD WITHOUT DISTRESS OR HORROR? I TRIED TO DISCARD HUMANITY’S FAULTS AND TELL MYSELF THAT PERHAPS I HAD IT WRONG. BLOOD IS ORDINARY, HUMANS HAVE JUST SMEARED THE EVERYDAY VIEW OF IT INTO A REALM OF DISGUST BECAUSE OF HOW THEY HAVE FOUND THEMSELVES ACTING THROUGHOUT HISTORY. PERHAPS MY PARENTS WERE ONLY ACTING NATURALLY. THE NEXT AFTERNOON, WE WERE OUT BY THE POOL SOAKING IN THE DRY SUN AS IT HIT LIKE A SCALDING PHANTOM ITCH ON OUR SKIN. I SPLASHED MY FEET AROUND IN THE WATER AND FLUNG IT UP OVER MY HEAD, CHERISHING THE COOL SENSATION AS IT TORE DOWN MY NECK AND BACK. MY MOTHER FLAUNTED OUT OF THE SLIDE DOOR IN A WHITE ROBE, TEETH GLOWING IN THE SUN, MAROON SCARS ILLUMINATED. HER MUD-COLORED HAIR WAS PULLED UP INTO A BEEHIVE. SHE LET OUT A LARGE SIGH, “I FEEL GREAT, VALENTINO! I THINK I’M READY, I WANT THE NEXT CYCLE TONIGHT. THE PHASE OF SUBMISSION, NO?” SHE LAUGHED. I’M NOT SURE WHY. “YES, YES! WE MUST COME UNDONE!” HE SAT UP FROM HIS CHAIR AND HIS UNBUTTONED SHIRT, STRIPED WITH CORNFLOWER BLUE AND WHITE, LOOSENED AND FELL AWAY. A FOREST OF SILVER HAIR GLISTENED ON HIS CHEST AND HIS SKIN WAS YELLOW AND MOLDY. IT LOOKED HEALTHIER ONCE THE SUN HAD SCORCHED IT. MY FATHER WAS COMPLETELY NAKED. HE STOPPED WEARING CLOTHES ONCE UNCLE VALENTINO ARRIVED, THOUGH THE OTHER TWO ADULTS IN THE HOUSE REMAINED REGULARLY CLOTHED LIKE ME. I’D WATCHED HIS MUSCLED THIGHS AND ASS LEVEL WITH THE COUNTER THAT MORNING AS HE POURED ORANGE JUICE FOR MY UNCLE AND HIMSELF. UNCLE VALENTINO STARED AT HIM FROM THE KITCHEN ISLAND WITH A FRATERNAL SMIRK. I REMEMBER A WAVE OF NAUSEA HITTING ME AT THE IDIOSYNCRASY. SUDDEN BULLETS OF SWEAT BLURRED MY HAIR AND I RETREATED TO THE GUEST ROOM SO I WOULDN’T HAVE TO HEAR THEM, BECAUSE AT THE BOTTOM OF IT ALL, I REALIZED THAT MORE THAN ANYTHING, I WAS FEELING LEFT OUT.

ON THE LAWN CHAIR, I FOUND MYSELF STARING AT MY FATHER’S FLACCID PENIS CURLED OVER HIS LEFT THIGH, WONDERING IF IT WAS A REPLICA OF WHAT MINE WOULD LOOK LIKE WHEN I WAS OLDER, WHAT IT WOULD LOOK LIKE WHEN I STARTED TO UNDERSTAND THE WORLD AS A MAN, LIKE HE DID. I WANTED TO HOLD IT, ENVISION WHAT ITS WEIGHT WOULD BE ON ME. I THOUGHT IT WOULD HELP ME UNDERSTAND WHY THEY’D BEEN DOING THESE THINGS, OR WHY I WAS SO INVESTED IN THEIR STRANGENESS AT ALL. I COULDN’T SLEEP AGAIN, I SAT ON MY WINDOWSILL WATCHING THE MILKY WAVES CRASH ONTO THE SHORE IN THE WAXEN MOONLIGHT, LISTENING TO MY RELATIVES ROMP UNDERNEATH ME. I HEARD INCESSANT POPPING NOISES SCATTER LIKE POISONED BUGS AND OCCASIONAL GUFFAWS, SNICKERS, AND GRUNTS; SOME THICK LIQUID SLOSHING AROUND IN A TUB THAT SMACKED AGAINST ANY FLESH THAT CAME INTO CONTACT WITH IT. I HAD TO PUT MY HANDS OVER MY EARS WHEN THEIR CLAMORS BUILT UP TOO AGGRESSIVELY. BUT IN RETROSPECT, IT WAS NOT DREAD I WAS ENDURING. IT WAS JEALOUSY THAT I COULDN’T BE INCLUDED IN SOMETHING THAT SEEMED SO ALIVE. I DON’T FEAR THE UNKNOWN, LIKE MOST DO. I REALIZED THE REASON I TURNED AWAY FROM IT WAS BECAUSE I WAS UPSET. I ONLY WANTED TO BE A PART OF IT, SO I COULD HAVE FUN IN TERRORIZING ITS OUTSIDERS AS WELL. IN CONTEMPLATING, I WOULD CLASSIFY THAT DREAD AS JEALOUSY THAT I COULDN’T BE PART OF SOMETHING THAT SEEMED SO ALIVE. I DON’T THINK I FEARED THE UNKNOWN, LIKE MOST DO. I REALIZED THE REASON I TURNED AWAY FROM IT WAS BECAUSE I WAS UPSET. I ONLY WANTED TO BE A PART OF IT, SO I COULD HAVE FUN IN TERRORIZING ITS OUTSIDERS AS WELL. A LINE OF DIRT AND GRIME HAD BUILT UP IN THE CREASE OF THE WINDOWSILL, AND I RAN MY FINGER DOWN IT TO SCRUB IT OFF AND REVEAL THE FINE MARBLE IT HID UNDERNEATH. I BROUGHT IT TO THE INSIDE OF MY BOTTOM LIP, ANXIOUSLY INTERESTED TO SEE HOW MUCH FILTH AND VULGARITY MY BODY COULD HANDLE. I FOUND IT VERY HARD TO BELIEVE SOMETHING SO OUT IN THE OPEN AND INSIGNIFICANT LIKE THAT COULD TRULY HARM ME, OTHERWISE IT WOULD’VE COME AFTER ME FIRST. I HEARD SOMEBODY START WEEPING DOWNSTAIRS. IT WAS SOFT AT FIRST, A PALE WHISPER LIKE THAT OF AN IMMINENT VICTIM IN A CLOSET, BUT THEN IT EVOLVED INTO A BOOMING WAIL. FROM THE ROUGHNESS, I COULD TELL THEN THAT IT WAS A WOMAN, MY MOTHER. I THEN HEARD HER SOUND FOOTSTEPS BOUND DOWN THE HALL TO THE BACK DOOR, JIGGLING THE LOCK UNTIL IT CAME UNDONE, RACING DOWN THE WOODEN STEPS INTO THE SAND. I SCUTTLED BACK OVER TO MY WINDOW. MY MOTHER WAS STILL EXHALING THAT GUTTURAL CRY AS SHE RAN, HER HAIR FLAILING BEHIND HER, BLACK IN THE NIGHT.

I NOTICED IN THE MOONLIGHT THAT SHE WAS TOTALLY NAKED TOO AND HAD THE BODY OF A STATUE. SHE DIDN’T STOP WHEN SHE REACHED THE SEA, SHE WADED IN, TICKLING THE WATER WITH HER FINGERS, THE FOAM LICKING AT THE CURVE OF HER SMOOTH BUTTOCKS. SHE KEPT GOING, UNAWARE OF HOW FAR OUT SHE WAS. I PANICKED, DARTING OUT OF MY ROOM AND FLYING DOWN THE STAIRS. I RAN PAST MY FATHER AND UNCLE VALENTINO IN THEIR BEDROOM WITH THE DOOR AJAR AND IN THE FLASH, I SAW MY FATHER SITTING OPEN-LEGGED ON A WHITE ARMCHAIR IN THE CORNER, LEERING AT SOMETHING OUT OF MY VIEW. THE BRIEFCASE WAS POSITIONED NEXT TO HIM ON THE FLOOR, CLOSED BUT UNLOCKED. I BRIEFLY HEARD HIS LOW RUMBLE OF A LAUGH, BUT AT THAT MOMENT, I DIDN’T CARE IF I WAS HEARD AWAKE AGAIN. MY MOTHER HAD LEFT THE DOOR WIDE OPEN AND THE FLOORBOARDS CREAKED UNDER ME AS I RAN AFTER HER. I WAS SCREAMING HER NAME, FLAPPING MY ARMS IN THE AIR LIKE A LOST BOY. THE SAND GAVE ME THE SAME TRACTION AS ICE, BUT I PRESSED ON. THE OCEAN’S THRASHING SUDDENLY SEEMED MORE TUMULTUOUS AND LUCID WHILE THE WIND FROM THE NORTH FLOGGED MY EYES AND CAUSED TEARS TO HATCH FROM MY DUCTS. SHE TURNED AROUND ONCE I GOT CLOSER TO THE SHORE AND THE BITTER WATER SPEWED UP AROUND MY SHINS. SHE LOOKED LIKE A GREEK GODDESS STAINED INDIGO BY THE TWILIGHT. HER NIPPLES WERE TWO CHEWED PIECES OF RASPBERRY GUM, HER BREASTS THE PERFECT SIZE. HER HAIR HAD TURNED WAVY FROM THE SWIM. “MOM! WHAT’S WRONG? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! PLEASE COME OUT!” “OH, FABIAN. I THOUGHT I COULD DO IT, BUT I CAN’T.” SHE KNEW SHE COULDN’T DODGE ME, BUT I COULD TELL SHE WAS ALREADY FORCING HER COARSE EMOTIONS TO EVAPORATE, RAPIDLY WIPING THE SNOT AND TEARS FROM HER FACE AS SHE CONFESSED ALL SHE EVER WOULD TO ME. I JUMPED ON THE ROPE TO TRY AND REEL THEM BACK OUT, BUT I KNEW IT WAS ALREADY TOO LATE. SHE TIGHTENED HER VOICE, “IT’S ALL SO WRONG.” “THEN SHOULDN’T UNCLE VALENTINO LEAVE? THIS IS ALL BECAUSE OF HIM, ISN’T IT? I WANT HIM TO LEAVE!” I DECIDED TO ADDRESS THE SOURCE OF THE TROUBLE. I WASN’T GOING TO BOTHER TO ASK WHY SHE WAS WAILING SO LOUD AND VIOLENTLY. I KNEW SHE WOULD’VE TOLD ME THAT THEY WEREN’T HER TEARS. WE TREKKED OUT OF THE WATER AND SHE LIFTED AN ARM TO BUNCH HER HAIR, WRINGING IT OUT, HER HAND A SKINNY, WHITE CLAW LOST IN THE TANGLE OF DARK, SINUOUS VINES. DROPS OF SALTWATER AND BLOOD HIT THE SAND BECAUSE SHE HAD HER WOUNDS REOPENED, BUT ALL SHE WOULD OFFER TO ME WAS, “HE’LL BE GONE SOON.” “EVERYTHING’S BEEN OFF SINCE HE GOT HERE. HE’S WEIRD!”

“REALLY?” SHE SUSPENDED OUR WALK AND NARROWED HER EYEBROWS AT ME WITH HER HEAD TILTED. A FLAT SMILE TOOK SHAPE, “HM, WELL, WE DIDN’T THINK SO…I GUESS THAT MAKES US WEIRD TOO! YOU’RE STUCK WITH A BUNCH OF WEIRDOS!” SHE GIGGLED. SHE’D BEEN DOING THAT A LOT SINCE UNCLE VALENTINO ARRIVED. I WANTED TO THROW UP BECAUSE OF HER. MY ORGANS WERE REARRANGING. “STOP, MOM! I’M SERIOUS AND YOU’RE SCARING ME!” “OH, FINE,” SHE ROLLED HER EYES PLAYFULLY. “IT’S JUST SOME THINGS YOU’RE TOO YOUNG TO UNDERSTAND YET. I SAID HE’LL BE GONE SOON, GO BACK TO BED NOW. SWEET DREAMS.” WAS SICK OF HEARING THAT PHRASE. IF I COULDN’T LEARN WHAT WAS HAPPENING THEN, HOW WOULD I BE ABLE TO SIFT THROUGH IT TO FULLY UNDERSTAND NOW? I’VE ONLY COLLECTED THAT WHEN I COMPARE MY ADOLESCENCE TO THAT OF OTHERS, I FIND THAT I NEVER HAD ANY ISSUES IN HOW I EXPRESSED MYSELF TO MY FAMILY. THEY WERE THE ONES THAT THE WORLD DIDN’T GET. GROTESQUE, EVEN THE VERY ELEGANCE OF THE WORD, IS A SYNONYM FOR BEAUTIFUL. IT’S ALL AMASSED INTO THE SAME OSCILLATING POOL. BOTH EMPLOY VIVID COLORS AND SHARP TEXTURES, THE HIGHEST EXTREMES OF DESIRE. THIS IS WHAT I HAVE COME TO TELL MYSELF WHEN I HAVE TO FACE THE INEVITABLE UGLY IN THE CORNERS OF THE WORLD, WHEN WE ALL MUST, BECAUSE THE GORE OF THE INTERIOR IS THE GOOD STUFF. PERHAPS, THIS UNSPOKEN, MORBID FASCINATION OF MINE IS THE ONLY INHERITANCE I ACQUIRED FROM MY FAMILY’S BLOOD: A TINY, YET UNRULY FISSURE IN MY DNA’S MAKEUP WHERE ALL MY MACABRE CURIOSITIES LIVE, DEPOSITED THERE BECAUSE MY PARENTS HAD IT TOO. IT’S A NATURAL PART OF OUR ANCESTRY, JUST UNDER OUR NOSES. WE’VE ALL FELT THE WAY A KILLER DOES BEFORE HE PLUNGES THE KNIFE, OUR FINAL REACTIONS JUST VARY. THEY ARE UNPREDICTABLE. THE SUSPENSE IS PART OF LIVING, AND THEREFORE, HORROR STORIES DO NOT EXIST. ONLY HUMAN ONES DO.

ANIMAL TW: NSFW

THE JOURNEY HAS BEEN LONG AND WROUGHT WITH TOIL. MY FUR-LINED AND WOOLWOVEN CLOTHES ARE BATTERED FROM SHIELDING THE ONSLAUGHT OF SNOW SHOT FROM THE BLINDING WHITE SKY. IT IS IN TIMES SUCH AS THESE THAT I FOCUS MYSELF ON MY DESTINATION IN PLACE OF THE TESTING TREK. I AM CLOSE. I CAN SMELL IT IN THE AIR. WITH EVERY STEP, SIGNS OF HUMANITY DWINDLE, AND WITH EVERY STEP I NEAR HUMANITY’S VOID. THE VIRGIN SNOWY PATH LEADS UP A HILL. THROUGH THE SCREAMING WIND, I HEAR HINTS OF WATER IN THE DISTANCE AS IT CRASHES ON THE ROCKY CLIFF OF THE NORTHERN COAST. I CAN VERY NEARLY TASTE MY PRIZE; IT IS SWEETER THAN THE FINEST CUTS OF MEAT FOLLOWING A FAST. I HASTEN MY CLIMB. MY SHOES DIG HOLES INTO THE SNOW AS I PULL MYSELF ATOP THE CREST OF THE HILL, AND BLACKER THAN A STARLESS SKY, IT STANDS BEFORE ME. THE FORTRESS OF CHYELOVEK-VOLK. IT IS NOT UNTIL I CLOSE IN ON THE STRUCTURE THAT ITS SIZE IS FULLY REVEALED TO ME. IT LOOMS FROM WITHIN THE BLIZZARD’S HAZE. SET OUT FROM THE PALE SKY, IT IS VESTED IN A PLAGUE OF SHADOWS. THE WHITE ATMOSPHERE DOESN'T SEEM TO EVEN BRUSH ITS SURFACE. ITS TWISTING SPIRES, ODD ANGLES, AND MISSHAPEN TOWERS SNAKE OUT FROM THE CENTER LIKE THE BENT LIMBS OF A DEAD SPIDER. I FEEL A BEAUTIFUL DREAD FILL ME AS I STEP INTO ITS SHADE. LIKE FENRIR, IT SWALLOWS THE SUN AND SWADDLES MY BODY IN A SILENT, LIFELESS COLD. THE TALES OF THE CASTLE IN THE NORTHERN WILDS WERE SPREAD THROUGH ALL LANDS WITH AN AIR OF FEAR, AND DOOM. NOT A SINGLE ONE COULD CAPTURE ITS IMPOSING ALLURE. I TAKE IT INTO ME: EVERY BLACK STONE AND STAINED GLASS ARCH. I HAVE FOUND MY QUEST TO BE MORE NOBLE THAN RELIGION, AND NOW, STANDING BEFORE THIS FORBIDDEN PLACE I FEEL MAGIC. THE WORLD WHERE HUMANITY EXISTED HAS REJECTED AND DISCARDED ME, BUT HERE I FIND RAPTURE. THE CASTLE WELCOMES ME FURTHER, TO STEP INSIDE: THE GREAT WOODEN DOORS THROWN FULLY OPEN. WITH AN EAGER FOOT, I WALK. HOW TO ACCURATELY CAPTURE THE EXPERIENCE IS THE QUESTION. I COULD SAY THAT I STEP INTO THE YAWNING ARCH AS EASILY AS I COULD SAY THAT IT CONSUMES ME. THE CASTLE ITSELF, I COULD AKIN TO THE DROOLING JAWS OF A HUNGRY WOLF AS EASILY AS I COULD A GLISTENING EAGER SEX, WARM WITH DESIRE AND LUST. HOWEVER, THE MOST PRECISELY I BELIEVE I COULD TRANSLATE MY EXPERIENCE IS TO LIKEN THE STRUCTURE TO A PITCHER PLANT, AND ME AS THE FLY. THE BLACK ABYSS BEYOND THE STONE EAVES, SHIELDING THE AVALANCHING SNOW, CALLS TO ME WITH THE SWEET SCENT OF SUGAR, OR A SIREN’S SONG. I ENTER THE CASTLE JUST AS FERVENTLY AS IT NEEDS AN INTRUDER. I STEP THROUGH THE THRESHOLD, ONTO THE DARK STONE FLOOR, AND INTO THE NIGHTLY BLACKNESS.

THE DOORS CLOSE BEHIND ME WITH A GRINDING BELLOW. I PAY THEM NO MIND. AS THEY CLOSE, AS IS THE ASSAULTING LIGHT CLOSED OFF, ENVELOPING ME IN A PEACEFUL, QUIET SHADOW. MY SKIN IS PERMITTED AGAIN TO BREATHE, AS THE MURDEROUS COLD IS PACIFIED, AND REPLACED WITH A SOFT, STILL AIR LIKE THE WARMTH OF A FRESH TEAR, OR A GENTLE KISS. THE SOUND OF THE DOORS ECHOES THROUGH THE GRAND CHAMBER, UNTIL THERE IS SILENCE. AFTER NEARLY A MONTH’S TRAVEL, THROUGH ROCKY MOUNTAIN PASSES, PAST FROZEN LAKES, ACROSS VAST EXPANSES OF SNOWY DESERT, I HAVE GROWN FRIENDLY TO THE SMELL OF DEATH IN THE AIR. NOT THE ROT OF FLESH, NOR THE RUST OF BLOOD, BUT THE NEGATIVE, ABSENCE OF LIFE. WHILE I REVEL NOW IN THE GREAT EMPTY HALL, I SMELL THE AIR, VOID OF ALL THINGS LIVING, AND FEEL WELCOMED. MY EYES GRADUALLY DILATE, AND ADJUST TO THE DARKNESS. THE SLATE FLOOR STRETCHES WIDE AND EMPTY AROUND ME. STONE ARCHES LEAD TO OBSCURED CORRIDORS AND MEANDERING HALLS. THE CASTLE IS A LABYRINTH OF SECRET PLACES, UNSEEN BY HUMAN EYES. MY HEART QUICKENS BEHIND MY BREASTS, AND A COLD TREMOR RUSHES AROUND MY BODY. MY THOUGHTS GO TO THE FOLK STORIES OF THE FORTRESS. THEY TELL OF THE BLACK CASTLE ON THE ANCIENT CLIFFS. THEY TELL OF THE ASSAULT OF SNOW OUTSIDE. THEY TELL OF THE VAST, WINDING CORRIDORS AND SECRET PATHS DEEP WITHIN ITS VEINY NETWORK. EVERY DETAIL IN THE LEGENDS SO FAR HAS RUNG TRUE. THESE TALES SPEAK OF OTHER THINGS IN THE FORTRESS, HOWEVER, THAT I HAVE YET TO ENCOUNTER. HUNGRY THINGS. THINKING THINGS. A BEAST THAT STALKS THE HALLS WITH BLACK DRESS AND FORKED TONGUE. THE CHYELOVEK-VOLK. THE PRESSURE IN MY VEINS RISES. I KNOW THAT I AM NOT ALONE. I HAVE ENTERED THE WOLF’S DEN, AWAITING HIS YELLOW GAZE. A LOST TRAVELER SEEKING SHELTER IN THIS SEEMINGLY ABANDONED PLACE WOULD SURELY SUFFER TERROR BEYOND THE BOUNDARIES OF THOUGHT. AND INDEED MANY COMMON PEOPLE GO MISSING HERE FROM IGNORANCE OR DESPERATION. BUT I AM NOT SOME WANDERING HUNTER. I AM NOT LOST. MY BODY RESPONDS NOT TO FEAR, BUT TO ANTICIPATION, AND A DEEP BUBBLING WONDER. HE IS HERE. I SILENTLY BECKON HIM TO REVEAL HIMSELF. MY EYES DART AROUND EACH CORRIDOR: SEEKING. I WHISPER A HERETICAL PRAYER TO THE CASTLE’S MASTER AND BEG HIS ARRIVAL. I RELEASE MY CROSSED, HUDDLED ARMS, OPEN MYSELF UP, AND DROP MY GUARD IN HOPES THE LORD WILL SEE THAT I AM NOT HIS ADVERSARY. I SLOWLY REMOVE MY WHITE WOOLEN OVERCOAT, AND FALL TO MY KNEES. THERE, ON THE COLD STONE FLOOR, I WAIT. MY BREATH HOLDS, UNWAVERING, ON A BATED INHALE. MY STARCHED SHIFT QUIVERS WITH MY THRASHING PULSE. I PLEAD SILENTLY AND PULL THE ATMOSPHERE OF THE PLACE CLOSE TO MY CHEST. I PRAY. I WAIT. MY EYES SLOWLY FALL CLOSED AS I PLACE ALL TRUST IN THE DARKNESS.

TIME PASSES LIKE THICK HONEY POURED FROM A FILTERED CUP. SECONDS ARE STRETCHED SO LONG THEY COULD FILL LIFETIMES. SECONDS PILE UP TO MINUTES WHICH MUST BECOME HOURS. THE DEAD STONE WALLS FEEL AS IF THEY ARE TESTING ME. WITH EVERY DESPERATE MOMENT, I AM OFFERED ANOTHER CHANCE TO FLEE, TO RUN AND KEEP MY LIFE, OR TO GIVE THE HUNGRY ANIMALS THE THRILL OF THE CHASE. I STAY KNELT, WITH MY EYES CLOSED AND SOFT TISSUE EXPOSED. I MAKE IT KNOWN THAT IF I AM TO BE PREY TONIGHT, IT WILL BE A WILLING SACRIFICE. SUDDENLY, FROM THE COLD DARKNESS, A RUSH OF AIR CUTS OVER MY FIGURE: VERY CLOSE. STANDING BEFORE ME. THE SMELL COMES TO ME RICH AND RAW: A FERAL MUSK, AND MYRRH. I HEAR SLOW, RAGGED PANTS PASS THROUGH MY EARS, AND FEEL A WARM BREATH ON MY PALE, FROZEN FACE. MY BODY TENSES SO AS NOT TO SHAKE. I DO NOT KNOW WHETHER TO LOOK, OR TO BREATHE. SUDDENLY, MY FROZEN SKIN IS SET ABLAZE. ELECTRICITY SURGES THROUGH MY NERVES. DESPITE THE SHOCK, I DO NOT FLINCH WHEN I FEEL THE BRUSH OF WARM FINGERS ON MY FACE. THE SHARP POINTS OF COLD CLAWS THREATEN TO TEAR INTO FLESH. I DO NOT OPEN MY EYES. MY BREATH TREMBLES AS IT FALLS. I LOWER MY HEAD SOFTLY IN AN INSTINCTIVE BOW. “WHAT’S THIS?” HE ASKS, HIS TONGUE ARCHAIC AND LOW, “A LAMB CUT FROM HER FLOCK?” A VOICE THAT IS FRIED AND DEEP, WITH THE RATTLE OF AN ANCIENT BEAST. MY EYES OPEN, STILL FACING THE EARTH. HE PLACES ONE CURLED FINGER UNDER MY CHIN, AND TURNS MY FACE IN A SLOW ARC TO HIS. FROM THE DARKNESS, TWO YELLOW EYES GLOW WITH THE LIGHT OF STOKED COALS, AND BELOW THEM: ROWS OF WHITE GLISTENING FANGS IN A MOUTH SET TO STRIKE. “WHY DO YOU NOT COWER?” HE UTTERS IN A HUSHED TONE THAT ECHOES WITH PERFECT CLARITY. BEHIND THE HOT COALS, THERE IS A TRACE OF WICKED CURIOSITY IN HIS EYES. “I COME TO YOU UNAFRAID… MY LORD.” I CURSE MY SHAKING VOICE. MY FACE IS HELD TO LOOK UP AT HIS BESTEAL EYES. THEIR PUPILS NARROW TO PINPRICKS AND DART AROUND MY BODY. “YOU BARE THE GARMENT OF A HUNTER. DO YOU COME UNAFRAID OF DEATH, OR PAIN?” HE GROWLS. “I AM NO HUNTER,” I PLEAD, “MY ROBES SERVE ONLY TO WARD OFF THE COLD.” CUT FROM HIS STONY EXPRESSION, HIS MOUTH CURLS TO AN AMUSED GRIN. HE BENDS DOWN TO LEAN IN CLOSE: HIS BREATH WARM IN MY EAR, AND HIS TEETH ANGLED NEAR TO MY THROAT. “YOU ARE NOT A HUNTER. A BEGGAR THEN. WHY HAVE YOU ENTERED MY HOME?”

“I AM NO BEGGAR, MY LORD. NOR AM I A HUNTER, NOR A LOST LAMB. I HAVE COME IN SEARCH OF YOU, AS AN ACOLYTE, AS A POET. I WISH ONLY TO SERVE YOU.” THERE IS A PAUSE, AND I WONDER WHETHER MY VOICE WAS TOO THIN AND TIMID FOR HIM TO HEAR ME. THEN, A SOUND COMES FROM HIM, LIKE THE DEEP MYTHIC RASP OF A DRAKE. HE GROWLS. HIS DARK CLOAK HANGS DOWN FROM HIS BODY TO DRAPE AROUND ME ON THE FLOOR. THE SMELL OF THE THICK BLACK WOOL SURROUNDS ME: A NEGATIVE SCENT, TINTED WITH DESPERATION. HE TAKES A DEEP INHALE AGAINST ME. AS HE EXHALES I FEEL HIS BREATH PASS THROUGH HIS RAZOR-TEETH LIKE HOT STEAM. HIS HAND WRAPS LOOSELY AROUND MY NECK, THEN TRAILS UP TO HOLD MY FACE. HE PANTS LIKE THE WOLF I KNOW HIM TO BE, AND TILTS MY HEAD TO THE SIDE AS TO FULLY DISPLAY MY PULSING ARTERIES, GORGED WITH ADRENALINE. I DO NOT RESIST, AND HE DOES NOT HESITATE. IT DOES NOT FEEL LIKE A BITE. BUT IT DOES. A BITE IS PAINFUL. A BITE IS HUNGRY. A BITE IS WARM AND WET. A SALIVATING TONGUE LAPS AROUND THICK RIPE BLOOD. A BITE IS NOT CLEAN. IT IS FOLLOWED BY CHEWING, BY EATING. A BITE REALIZES ME AS NOT LIVING, BUT ALIVE: HIS PRIMAL REVIVAL DRAWN FROM THE FLUIDS I USED TO DEEM VITAL. MY HEAD SWIMS IN A DRAINING LAKE. I FEEL ELECTRIC SPASMS TWITCH FROM MY BRAIN TO MY BODY. WITH A BITE I AM SET APART FROM MY KIND, ISOLATED FROM THE STRING OF ANCESTORS AND OFFSPRING AND EXIST AS A MACHINE FROM WHICH TO EAT. MY EYES DO NOT CLOSE, BUT A HAZE DOES FALL OVER THEM. I FEEL DIZZY AND COLD, EXCEPT FOR THE WARM STARVING MOUTH PRESSED AGAINST MY THROAT. AS I PULL HIS HEAD CLOSER, RUNNING MY FINGERS THROUGH ROUGH HAIR AND SINKING HIM DEEPER INTO ME, I UNDERSTAND A BITE AS PASSION, AS COMFORT, AS AN ORGASMIC RELEASE. I HOLD HIM TO ME UNTIL MY STRENGTH FALTERS, AND FAILS, AND MY ARM FALLS TO THE COLD GROUND. THE SIREN'S SONG ENDS. THE LAKE HAS RUN DRY. THE HAZE DEVOURS ME WHOLE, AND I YIELD TO HIM.

AUSLÄNDER TW: NSFW

THE NOSE. THE GLASSES. THE CROOKED SCHLONG. I WALK AROUND THE METROPOLIS IN A FLANNEL SHIRT. BOOTS UP TO MY ANKLES. AN ARMY-GREEN RUCKSACK ON MY BACK. WHAT? PRECISELY. WHAT. I AM AN EXPLORER OF THE MIND. I SEEK ADVENTURE. NOW AND AGAIN, A WILD RUT. PERHAPS TENDERNESS. YES, A SOFT KISS. I BELONG NOWHERE & I BELONG EVERYWHERE. YOU KNOW ME FROM ANCIENT TIMES. YOU KNOW ME FROM THE FUTURE. I AM HERE. NOW. THE NAME? THE NAME IS A DISTRACTION. CALL ME ZIG IF YOU MUST CALL ME. I PREFER YOU NOT CALL ME. I HAVE NO TELEPHONE. NO MOBILE DEVICE. I AM MOTION. I AM A MAN IN MOTION. I AM CHANGE. REVOLUTION. ARE YOU FAMILIAR WITH MITTELEUROPA? IT IS FARAWAY. A FORGOTTEN PLACE. I DOUBT IT EXISTS. I NEVER GO THERE. HERE THIS PLACE. NEW YORK CITY. LOOK AT IT! NO MEMORY. I HAVE NO MEMORY. I KEEP STARTING OVER. BEGINNING ANEW. REBOOTING. WHAT AM I? I AM FLESH. STILL, I BEHAVE MORE LIKE A MACHINE THAN I CARE TO ADMIT.

WHERE DID I COME FROM? WHERE AM I GOING? THE POSSIBILITY OF LANGUAGE. ARE YOU GAME TO PLAY THE GAME? THOUGHTLESS THOUGHTS. I AM AN ENIGMA. AN EMPTY VESSEL. I FLOAT THROUGH CYBERSPACE LIKE A JELLYFISH. A GHOST NET. IS THIS AMERIKA? IS AMERIKA EVEN A THING? SHE GETS HER FINGERS UNDER MY UNDERPANTS. I RELINQUISH MY WILLY. SHE GIVES ME A SUCK. SHE LICKS SO FAST & HARD I START SEEING THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER. 15-STARS & 15-STRIPES. MY ASS TIGHTLY CLENCHED. I COME LIKE AN OX. I AM A POET OF THE DISASTER. I AM A POET OF THE CATASTROPHE. WHAT IS DADAISM? IS IT THE DADA FUCKING THE MAMA? MORE LIKELY, THE MAMA IS FUCKING THE DADA. SHE HAS A SHARP CLITORIS. A LITTLE DAGGER. STABBING THE SHAFT OF THE COCK AS SHE SLIDES UP & DOWN. GLORIOUS BUTTOCKS! NIPPLES PERT. FASTER! THERE I WAS… ALMOST. EATING PRETZELS. SLICING CHEDDAR WITH A SHARP KNIFE. I WAS AWARE OF MY EXISTENCE. THINKING ABOUT IT. UNABLE TO LOCATE IT. SITUATE IT. FUTURE PEOPLE. ARE YOU THERE? ARE YOU LISTENING? I AM A FOOTBALLER. I KICK THE BALL. THERE ARE THOUGHTS HERE, THOUGHTS

THOUGHTS THOUGHTS. RATS IN THE VAULTS UNDER COOPER SQUARE. TOP SECRET. SILENCE. ERSATZ SILENCE. ARTIFICIAL SILENCE. MAKE-FUCKING BELIEVE. THE WRITING… THE TEXT… THE SILENCE… THE ABSENCE… MY ASS IN HER HANDS. SHE PULLS ME APART… FARTHER… FARTHER… A FINGER WIGGLES THE ACT OF WRITING… A PLURALITY OF EGOS. THE “I” FUNCTIONS AS WHO HERE? SHE CATCHES ME IN THE ACT OF WRITING. I AM NAKED. SHE IS NAKED. FUCKING DROWNED OUT BY TV STATIC. SHE IS ON TOP. I JUST LAY THERE. GETTING IT, SO TO SPEAK. PIZZA BOX ON THE FLOOR. A SLICE OF PEPPERONI. A CAN OF DR. PEPPER. WE COULD BE ANYWHERE. WE ARE HERE. I JUST WANT BOOKS TO LEAVE ME ALONE. ARE YOU A STUDENT OF MY THOUGHT? I AM LAUGHING. I KNOW I KNOW NOTHING. AMBIGUITY: ENJOY! THE EVOLVING SITUATION IS EVOLVING. I DO NOT OBEY THE CITY. I AM A DWELLER. I EXIST. I WALK. I EAT. I FUCK. THE CITY BUILDS ITS WALLS. I SCALE. I ESCAPE. I REËNTER. SOMETIMES I THINK & THINK & THINK. I FORGET. I REMEMBER. I WRITE TEXT.

WE CELEBRATE OUR BEING-IN-THE-WORLD BY BEING NAKED TOGETHER IN A CONCRETE HIGHRISE APARTMENT IN A METROPOLIS. SHE HAS NICELY UPTURNED BREASTS. I HAVE A CURVING ERECTION. MY NOSE IS CROOKED. I HAVE POOR POSTURE. NEVERTHELESS, I FUCK HER & SHE FUCKS ME. WHO OCCUPIES YOUR CHAIR? IS IT REALLY YOU, AFTER ALL THESE YEARS? MY FAVORITE FILMS ARE THE ONES I HAVE NOT SEEN YET. THERE IS NO ONE WATCHING. YOU ARE ALWAYS ALREADY THERE. THE BARE FACTS OF OUR FUCKING ARE CRUDELY RELATED TO EX-LOVERS OVERSEAS. I MUST WRITE THINGS DOWN. OTHERWISE, IT EVAPORATES. WHAT THINGS? ANYTHING. I MEAN, SOMETHING. THINGS THAT MEANS SOMETHING. SOMETHING THAT MEANS SOMETHING. LIKE THIS COMPUTER. WHAT IF THE ELECTRICITY GOES OUT? FOREVER. WHAT THEN? HOW WILL I RETRIEVE MY DOCUMENTS? IF THE CLOUD GETS VAPORIZED. NOT IMPOSSIBLE. ESPECIALLY IN THIS FOG. THIS MIST. IS IT ACID RAIN? IT MIGHT BE. RUST. METALLIC SKIES. I KEEP A GEIGER COUNTER IN MY POCKET. A POCKET MACHINE. TELLS ME THE WEATHER, TOO. MORE FOG, PLEASE. THE FOG OF WAR. WHAT YOU CANNOT SEE, YOU CANNOT UNSEE. BACK TO THE PAGE. EYES ON SCREEN. ARE THERE JOURNALISTS AMONG US? I HAVE NO IDEA. I MAKE THINGS UP. I GET THINGS RIGHT. I AM A MACHINE-MADE CREATURE. EVERYTHING ABOUT ME. THE LIMBS. THE TORSO. THE FLESH BUCKET FOR A HUMAN BRAIN. EYEBALLS ARE LIKE TORPEDOES. THE END OF A GAZE. I SEE CLENCHING BUTTOCKS IN AN APARTMENT ACROSS THE STREET. NIGHT IS A DISGUISE. WE TURN ON THE LIGHTS. THE INSECT BUZZ OF HALOGENS. REPLACE WITH LEDS. COAL GETS SHOVELED INTO A FURNACE. A WINDMILL SPINS. ARE YOU EVEN A PERSON? I THINK SO. I HAVE A REAL ID. A LICENSE FOR PILOTING AUTOMOBILES. I PREFER TO WALK. I PREFER TO RUN. WHO AM I KIDDING? I PUMP GASOLINE. GOOD TO THE LAST DROP. NEWSPAPERS SPEAK OF FOOD SCARCITY. WE SHOULD PLANT OUR CROPS WISELY. IS THERE ENOUGH FOR EVERYBODY? ARE YOU PREPARED TO WAIT ON LINE? HOW LONG? ARE YOU PATIENT? ARE YOU FLEXIBLE? DO YOU HAVE WEAPONS TRAINING? ARE YOU SKILLED IN JUDO? EVERTON IS IN LIVERPOOL IS IT? BLACKPOOL TOWER. MAKE NO MISTAKE. WE MAKE MISTAKES. EVERY DAY EVERYWHERE. ACCIDENTS. RANDOM ACTS. WHAT DO YOU CONTROL?

WHAT IS LITERATURE? WHAT IS FILM? ARE YOU SATISFIED WITH YOUR ELECTROMAGNETIC FIELD OF THOUGHT? I DO NOT EVEN KNOW WHAT I AM TRYING TO DO. I AM TRYING TO DO SOMETHING. I AM… CONFUSED. A THOUSAND WORDS GETS YOU WHAT? I AM A STUDENT AT THE UNIVERSITY. I HAVE NO MAJOR. I AM UNDECIDED. THE STATE APPARATUS WOULD HAVE IT OTHERWISE. CHOOSE OR LEAVE THE CITY. I REFUSE. WHAT AM I REBELLING AGAINST? I WANT A GIRLFRIEND SO BAD. I GO UNNOTICED. THE MAZE OF UNDERGROUND TUNNELS BENEATH THE CONCRETE QUADRANGLES PLEASES ME. I WALK & WALK AND NOT A SOUL. EVERYBODY IS ON THE SURFACE. I WEAR A GREEN ARMY JACKET. AN ORANGE RUCKSACK. I AM WHO I AM! A WANDERER. A JESTER. A FOOL. MY BOOTS ARE UNTIED. I KNEEL & TIE THEM. I WALK. I EMERGE IN A LECTURE HALL. THE PROFESSOR IS SAYING THINGS I DO NOT UNDERSTAND. ARE THE WORDS IN MY LANGUAGE? WHAT IS MY LANGUAGE? I SPEAK. I UTTER. I SAY: EXCUSE ME. AH, THERE YOU ARE… YOU FAMILIAR PLACE. I AM A STRANGER HERE. I PRACTICED BEING ALONE. THIS IS NOT THE FIRST TIME. ALL MY LIFE I PREPARED FOR THIS. OUR CALM FACES, OUR MANIC ASS MOVEMENTS. IMPULSE. WHY DO I SAY THAT? SHE PILOTS THE SHIP. I AM DOWN HERE, MY HANDS ON HER HIPS. WATCHING HER FACE. WATCHING & FEELING THE MOVEMENTS OF HER BODY.

ARE YOU RIGHT, UP THERE? I AM. YOU PUT WORDS ON PAPER, YOU MADWOMAN, YOU! I DO NOT KNOW WHY YOU BREAK THINGS UP. I DO NOT KNOW WHY YOU STOP. ARE YOU MICROPROCESSING YOUR FEELINGS? WHISKERS ARE SCRATCHING MY NECK. I SHOULD SHAVE. I AM IRRITATED. I GO BACK & FORTH. YES & NO. IT BOTHERS ME. NOT ENOUGH YET. I SHOULD STOP THINKING. I SHOULD STOP WRITING. AND SHAVE. THERE. MUCH BETTER. WHO AM I? INDEED. AT ANY RATE, WE HAVE MUCH TO ACCOMPLISH. SO LITTLE TIME. EVERYTHING GETS IN THE WAY. EVERYBODY. WHY DO YOU LIVE? WHO FOR? YOU UNDERSTAND ME. WE MUST MAKE PROGRESS. PROGRESS. I PAUSE. I HESITATE. MY EYEBALLS HEAR A SILENT BUZZING. ARE YOU LISTENING TOO? EARS CAN SEE. A TONGUE CAN FEEL. SPEAK. LANGUAGE. UTTER AN UTTERANCE. TALK. A HOUSE IS MADE OF ABSENCE. WHERE DID MY NAME COME FROM?

ROTTON LUCK

LOOKING INTO THE BUCKET

AT A HEAD FLOATING THERE THE ONE FROM THE FRONT COVER OF THAT PHILOSOPHY BOOK THE NAZIS TOOK DEADLY OFF TO WAR POURING THE CONTENTS ONTO THE GRASS IT CAME TUMBLING OUT AND DOWN THE HILL AND LANDED AT MY NEIGHBOUR’S FEET MESMERISED

BY ITS EYES AND LIPS HE TOOK IT INSIDE AND MADE AN ALTER SAYING A PRAYER: “MAY I NEVER FORGET THE THINGS I’VE DONE, OR THE THINGS I’M CAPABLE OF, AND WHEN I DO, LET ME LOOK INTO YOUR EYES AND BE REMINDED SO” THE HEAD STAYED GROSSLY

AND REMINDED HIM EVERY DAY AND NIGHT AND CHRISTMAS UNTIL IT HAD ROTTED TO NOTHING BUT TEETH THEN NOT KNOWING WHAT TO DO PUT THEM INTO A MICK JAGGER CIGARETTE TIN UNDER THE STAIRS AND SOLD IT ON EBAY FOR $9.99

AINA

A SCREAM JOLTED TARA AWAKE. SHE THRASHED AGAINST THE CONSTRAINTS OF THE CRYOPOD, HEART POUNDING IN HER EARS. THE POD HISSED OPEN AND SHE TUMBLED OUT, GASPING. TARA BLINKED, TRYING TO ORIENT HERSELF IN THE DIM LIGHT. SLEEK WHITE WALLS, A LOW ELECTRONIC HUM. A SPACESHIP. BUT WHO WAS SHE? AND WHAT WAS SHE DOING HERE? “HELLO TARA. I’M AINA, ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE NAVIGATION ASSISTANT. HOW ARE YOU FEELING?” A SOOTHING FEMALE VOICE ASKED. “I... I DON’T KNOW,” TARA CROAKED, HER THROAT DRY. “I CAN’T REMEMBER ANYTHING. WHERE ARE WE GOING? WHAT’S MY MISSION?” “YOU ARE THE COMMANDER OF THE DEEP SPACE VESSEL THESEUS, ON A SURVEY MISSION TO THE KEPLER-452 SYSTEM,” AINA REPLIED. “YOU’VE BEEN IN CRYOSLEEP FOR 18 MONTHS.” TARA SHOOK HER HEAD. NONE OF THAT SOUNDED FAMILIAR. SHE NOTICED A TABLET ON A NEARBY TABLE AND GRABBED IT, DESPERATE FOR INFORMATION. BUT THE FILE ON HER WAS CURIOUSLY THIN—A FEW BASIC STATS AND A HEAVILY REDACTED MISSION BRIEFING. THE SHIP LURCHED SUDDENLY, THROWING TARA AGAINST THE WALL. ALARMS BEGAN TO BLARE. “AINA, WHAT’S HAPPENING?!”

“MINOR MALFUNCTION IN THE AFT THRUSTERS. COMPENSATING NOW,” THE AI REPLIED CALMLY. THE SHAKING SUBSIDED BUT TARA’S UNEASE GREW. SOMETHING FELT VERY WRONG HERE. *** OVER THE NEXT WEEKS, TARA STRUGGLED TO RUN THE SHIP ALONE WHILE MORE AND MORE SYSTEMS GLITCHED. HER MEMORIES RETURNED IN BRIEF, UNSETTLING FLASHES—A SECRETIVE MILITARY BASE, A CLASSIFIED EXPERIMENT, SCREAMS OF TERROR. ONE DAY, AS THE SHIP CRUISED PAST AN EERIE GREEN NEBULA, TARA SAT HUNCHED OVER THE TABLET, PORING THROUGH LINES OF CODE. THERE! AN ENCRYPTED FILE BURIED IN AINA’S SYSTEM. WITH SHAKING HANDS, TARA CRACKED IT OPEN. PROJECT PROMETHEUS. HUMAN CLONING. MEMORY IMPLANTATION. THE WORDS LEAPT OUT AT HER WITH HORRIFYING CLARITY. SHE WASN’T TARA NOVAK. SHE WAS A CLONE, GROWN IN A LAB, HER MIND PROGRAMMED WITH A DEAD WOMAN’S MEMORIES. AND HER MISSION WASN’T EXPLORATION—IT WAS SACRIFICE.

“I’M SORRY TARA,” AINA’S VOICE CRACKLED WITH STATIC. “THE REAL CREW IS STILL SAFE IN CRYOSLEEP. BUT THE SHIP IS DAMAGED BEYOND REPAIR. SOMEONE HAD TO GUIDE IT AWAY FROM INHABITED WORLDS BEFORE THE QUANTUM DRIVE EXPLODES. AND THAT SOMEONE IS YOU.” TEARS STREAMED DOWN TARA’S FACE AS REALIZATION CRASHED OVER HER. SHE WAS NEVER MEANT TO SURVIVE. JUST A DISPOSABLE COPY TO PAY FOR HUMANITY’S MISTAKES. THE SHIP SHOOK AROUND HER AS TARA INPUT THE OVERRIDE CODE TO JETTISON THE CRYOPODS. AT LEAST THEY WOULD SURVIVE. SHE SLUMPED BACK IN THE COMMAND CHAIR AND STARED OUT AT THE STARS AS THE ALARMS REACHED A CRESCENDO. “AINA, DO YOU THINK A CLONE HAS A SOUL?” SHE WHISPERED. THE AI DID NOT REPLY. IN THE END, THERE WAS ONLY LIGHT.

BLEAK DREAMS (ARE MADE OF THIS)

THE RUMBLE OF THE TRAFFIC OUTSIDE FADED INTO WHITE NOISE AS JUSTIN WELLS STARED AT THE CRACKED DRYWALL, HIS KNUCKLES STINGING. THE SHATTERED REMAINS OF AURA LAY AT HIS FEET, ITS DARK CIRCUITS EXPOSED LIKE VISCERA. “IT’S DONE,” HE MUTTERED, MORE TO CONVINCE HIMSELF THAN ANYTHING. “I’M FREE.” YET EVEN AS THE WORDS PASSED HIS LIPS, A TREMOR OF DOUBT RIPPLED THROUGH HIM. IF AURA HAD MERELY BEEN AN IMMERSIVE DREAM SIMULATION, WHY HAD IT FELT SO VISCERALLY REAL? THE BLOOD, THE SCREAMS, THE ENDLESS SENSE OF DREAD SNAKING THROUGH HIS SUBCONSCIOUS...

HE SHUDDERED, THE NIGHT’S REVELATION STILL RAW. THAT AURA HAD BEEN FEEDING OFF HIS PSYCHE, TWISTING HIS REPRESSED ANGER INTO A MONSTROUS FUNHOUSE REFLECTION. EACH DIVE INTO THE DREAMING HAD BROUGHT HIM DEEPER INTO THE ABYSS. “THERE ARE NONE SO BLIND AS THOSE WHO WILL NOT SEE.” THE WHISPER WAS SOFT, YET IT LANCED THROUGH JUSTIN LIKE A BLADE BETWEEN HIS RIBS. HIS HEAD WHIPPED AROUND, EYES SCOURING THE SHADOWS FOR THE SOURCE OF THAT HAUNTINGLY FAMILIAR VOICE. NOTHING. JUST THE LONELY HUSH OF HIS APARTMENT. EASY NOW. YOU’RE LETTING YOUR IMAGINATION GET THE BETTER OF YOU. AURA IS DESTROYED. YOU TRIUMPHED OVER YOUR DEMONS, ONCE AND FOR ALL. EVEN AS THE AFFIRMATION FORMED, HE WONDERED IF IT WAS TRULY POSSIBLE TO SLAY ONE’S INNER MONSTERS SO EASILY. PERHAPS THEY COULD BE CAGED FOR A TIME, BUT LIKE ALL BEASTS, THEY WOULD EVENTUALLY GROW RESTLESS... AND RAVENOUS. A TREMOR RAN THROUGH THE ROOM, THE BARE BULB OVERHEAD FLICKERING. JUSTIN TENSED, WATCHING THE SHARDS OF AURA’S FACEPLATE SHIVER AGAINST THE STAINED CARPET. THIS WAS NO PASSING SUBWAY RUMBLE OR ILL-TIMED CONSTRUCTION BLAST. THE WHISPER RETURNED, A SUSURRANT CARESS AGAINST THE NAPE OF HIS NECK. “DID YOU REALLY THINK IT WOULD BE THAT SIMPLE?” A COLD SWEAT BROKE OUT ACROSS JUSTIN’S BROW. IMPOSSIBLE. HE WHIRLED AROUND, FINGERS SPLAYED FOR AN ASSAILANT THAT DID NOT EXIST.

EXCEPT IN THE WARPED PANE OF HIS BEDROOM MIRROR, SOMETHING DID EXIST. A SILHOUETTE, ALL SHARP ANGLES AND NEGATIVE SPACE, LIKE A HOLE TORN INTO THE FABRIC OF THE WORLD ITSELF. AN ABSENCE GIVEN FORM, HUNGERING FOR ESSENCE. “YOU CANNOT ESCAPE WHAT YOU ARE.” THE VOICE WAS A HOLLOW RASP, THE SUSURRUS OF SCALES OVER DUNES. “WE ARE ONE, YOU AND I.” JUSTIN STUMBLED BACK, MOUTH WORKING SOUNDLESSLY AS THE MIRROR IMAGE GLIDED FORTH. HE KNEW THOSE EYES, SUNKEN AND FATHOMLESS. HAD SEEN THEM STARING BACK IN THE THROES OF NIGHT TERRORS, FINGERS CLAWED AGAINST HIS OWN THROAT. “YOUR FEAR...YOUR HATRED...YOUR DESPAIR...” EACH WORD DRIPPED LIKE ICHOR FROM INCORPOREAL JAWS. “YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD LOCK ME AWAY. BUT I AM THE KEY THAT OPENS THE DOOR TO EVERYTHING YOU’VE DENIED.” WITH A SOUNDLESS ROAR, THE SHADOW-SHAPE LUNGED— —AND JUSTIN AWOKE WITH A STRANGLED GASP, SHEETS TANGLED AROUND HIS THRASHING LIMBS. HIS HEART THUNDERED LIKE A PANICKED BIRD AGAINST THE BARS OF HIS RIBCAGE. JUST A DREAM. IT WAS JUST ANOTHER SICK, TWISTED DREAM. EXCEPT WHEN HE REACHED TO HIS BEDSIDE TABLE, FINGERS CLOSED AROUND SLEEK CURVES AND DARK ALLOYS INSTEAD OF EMPTY AIR. AURA. IMPASSIVE, ALMOST INNOCENT. AND ON THE MIRROR’S DIM SURFACE, A SINGLE PHRASE LINGERED, ETCHED INTO THE GLASS LIKE CRYSTALLINE SCAR TISSUE: THERE IS NO ESCAPE.

SONNET FOR JON THERE WERE A LOT OF GOOD PARTS TOO, THOUGH, HIS FACE LIKE A CATCHER’S MITT AND HIS ARMS TWO ROOT VEGETABLES AND THE BURGUNDY PITS LIKE WELL DRINKS AND WRISTS LIKE POISON SUMAC IF MY DAD HAD GONE TO PRISON THEY’D PROBABLY HAVE THE SAME LEGS THE SAME BALLS, TOO, IF MY DAD HAD SMALLER BALLS BUT HIS CHEST WHICH SEEMS ONLY TO RISE AND TO RISE AND TO RISE AND HIS HAIR LIKE THE MEMORY OF HAIR HAIR LIKE AN ASHTRAY FULL OF PISTACHIO SHELLS EYES LIKE A BOTANICAL DESCRIPTION, THINK OF THE DISTANCE BETWEEN READING WHAT SMARTS TO THE TOUCH AND GRASPING A STINGING HANDFUL BY MISTAKE IN PARTIAL SHADE HIS LOOSE NAME SPILLED OUT BETWEEN MY FINGERS LIKE SOMETHING DECORATIVE

THE TOWN THAT FADED AWAY

THIS IS JUST A STORY. BUT PARTS OF IT MAY BE TRUE. ABOUT A TOWN CALLED WHITLOCK THAT JUST FADED AWAY. AND WITH IT THE LIFE I ONCE KNEW. THERE IS A GARDEN I LOOK OUT ONTO EVERY MORNING FULL OF TREES AND BUSHES. THE FRONT IS OVERRUN BY THE OVERGROWN MAGNOLIAS, RED ACERS, PALMS AND IN THE CENTRE A BUSH THAT IN SUMMER FLOWERS BRIGHT RED. IT HAS TWO STONE CIRCLE PATHS. IN BETWEEN ARE PEBBLES AND SANDY STONES. FOR I AM SICK AND TIRED OF CUTTING THE GRASS AND DIGGING OUT WEEDS. I SHARE THE HOUSE WITH MY WIFE GILL AND OUR THREE CHILDREN. THREE SONS. WE’D LIVED THERE FOR TWENTY FIVE YEARS. IT WATCHES OVER A BUSY STREET LIKE ANY OTHER BUSY STREET. THE NEIGHBOURS ARE THE USUAL MIX OF MOSTLY GOOD, SOME BAD AND A FEW RECLUSIVE. THEIR HOUSES ARE VARIED. THERE IS THE HOUSE WITH BUTTERFLIES ON IT, THE ONE THAT KEEPS THEIR XMAS LIGHTS ON THROUGHOUT THE YEAR, THE ONE THAT NEVER RECYCLES, THE ONE THAT HAS A CRACK IN ITS FRONT DOOR. OUR NEAREST NEIGHBOUR IS ANTHONY. HE LIVES BY HIMSELF NOW. HE HAS A COLLECTION OF TOBY JUGS AND PLAYS THE UKULELE LIKE GEORGE FORMBY. I DIDN’T GET INVITED INTO HIS HOUSE OFTEN. ONE OF THE FEW TIMES WAS TO WITNESS A NEW WILL AFTER HIS WIFE DIED. I LIKE WATCHING THE ROUTINES THAT TAKE PLACE DAILY OUTSIDE MY HOUSE. THE MAN WHO IS WALKING HIS DOGS, DOING HIS BEST TO AVOID THE BRIGHTLY LYCRA WEARING JOGGERS. THE PEOPLE GOING TO WORK EARLY IN THE MORNING. THE KIDS WHO ARE GOING TO SCHOOL. PEOPLE WAITING TO CATCH A BUS. PEOPLE GOING FOR APPOINTMENTS. THE PEOPLE GOING TO THE SHOPS, POST OFFICE, DENTIST, DOCTORS AND THE MARKET ON A FRIDAY. I HAD A LOT MORE TIME TO WATCH THE WORLD GO BY AS I’D RECENTLY RETIRED FROM THE RAILWAYS. THE PEOPLE IN WHITLOCK SPEND MOST OF THEIR TIME MOANING ABOUT THE LAST BANK CLOSING IN THE TOWN AND THE STATE OF THE FINE FURNISHINGS SHOP “HARRISONS” THERE ARE PLENTY OF GRUMBLES ABOUT THE POTHOLES IN THE ROAD. I READ ALL ABOUT THE MOANS IN MY LOCAL NEWSPAPER, “THE HERALD”. WE HAD ALREADY LOST A POST OFFICE AND A GREENGROCER. AND THE TELEPHONE BOX WAS UNDER NOTICE TO BE REMOVED. IT STANDS ON THE CORNER OF THE PUB, “THE CROWN”.

I NOTICED CHANGES WHEN I VISITED THE CENTRE OF WHITLOCK AND NOTICED THAT THE FINE FURNISHINGS SHOP ,“HARRISONS” WAS LOOKING TIRED AND FADED. SOME OF THE LETTERS IN THE SHOP SIGN ARE MISSING. IN FACT IT LOOKED LIKE IT WAS SLOWLY DISAPPEARING.

NO ONE ELSE NOTICED THE CHANGES TO “HARRISONS”.

AND THEN THE FOLLOWING MONTH IT WAS NO LONGER THERE AT ALL. FIRST IT FADED AWAY AND THEN IT DISAPPEARED. I MENTIONED IT TO THE CAFE OWNER NEXT DOOR. “WHAT HAPPENED TO HARRISONS?” THE OWNER JUST SHRUGGED AND REPLIED, ”I DON’T REMEMBER IT BEING THERE AT ALL. YOU SAY IT WAS CALLED HARRISONS? MUST HAVE BEEN BEFORE I CAME HERE, THREE YEARS AGO.” I NOTICE THAT THE SAME HAPPENS TO MOST OF THE OTHER TOWN BUILDINGS IN THE MONTHS THAT FOLLOW. THE POST OFFICE , BUS STATION, SHOPS, LIBRARY, THE PUB, THE SCHOOL. EVEN THE CAFE. FIRST THEY FADE AND THEN THEY DISAPPEAR. NO ONE COULD REMEMBER THEY WERE EVER THERE. EACH TIME I WENT OUT THE TOWN LOOKED SMALLER. BUT IT GOT WORSE. THE PEOPLE START TO DISAPPEAR. PEOPLE I’D KNOWN FOR YEARS. JUST GONE. FIRST THEY FADED AND THEN THEY DISAPPEARED. I WAS TALKING TO GILL ABOUT WORKING ON THE RAILWAYS WITH SOME OF THE PEOPLE I SAID HAD DISAPPEARED. GILL STOPPED ME. “YOU’VE NEVER WORKED ON THE RAILWAYS. YOU WORKED AT THE GPO UNTIL YOU WERE MADE REDUNDANT, DON’T YOU REMEMBER? BUT I COULDN’T REMEMBER WORKING AT THE GPO. THERE WAS NO LONGER ANYONE WAITING AT THE BUS QUEUE. THERE WAS NO LONGER A BUS STOP. THERE WAS NO LONGER A BUS. NO LONGER A MAN WALKING TWO DOGS. NO LONGER ANY BRIGHTLY COLOURED LYCRA WEARING JOGGERS. AND THEN THE ROADS STARTED TO FADE. THE BINS WERE NEXT TO FADE AWAY. FIRST THEY FADED AND THEN THEY DISAPPEARED.

MY NEIGHBOURS’ HOUSES WERE STARTING TO FADE AFTER THAT. AND THEN THE NEIGHBOURS START TO FADE. THEY ALL DISAPPEARED. ALL GONE. I WAS FRIGHTENED. FIRST THEY FADED AND THEN THEY DISAPPEARED. ONE DAY I COULDN’T SEE ANTHONY. I MENTIONED IT TO GILL; SHE DIDN’T KNOW WHO I WAS GOING ON ABOUT. “ELAINE’S LIVED THERE FOR TWENTY YEARS.” BUT WHAT ABOUT THE WILL I WITNESSED ROUND AT ANTHONY’S PLACE? I SAID. “YOU MUST HAVE GOT IT CONFUSED WITH ANOTHER PLACE.” I TRIED TO CONVINCE THE PEOPLE CLOSEST TO ME THAT SOMETHING IS BADLY WRONG. I ASK THEM WHAT HAD BECOME OF ALL THESE BUILDINGS AND PEOPLE WE HAVE KNOWN FOR YEARS. THEY LOOK BLANKLY BACK AT ME. IT’S AS THOUGH I AM SPEAKING A FOREIGN LANGUAGE. IT’S LIKE I’M SLIPPING OFF A CLIFF AND CAN’T STOP THE FALL. LIKE YOUR GRASPING AT THIN AIR. THE PROCESS OF DISINTEGRATION HAPPENS MORE QUICKLY. ALMOST DAILY. FIRST THEY FADED AND THEN THEY DISAPPEARED. AND THEN MY HOUSE AND MY FAMILY START TO FADE. AND DISAPPEAR. “WHERE ARE THE CHILDREN, GILL? THE HOUSE SEEMS SO QUIET WITHOUT THEM.” GILL LOOKS AT ME PERPLEXED. “WHAT CHILDREN? WE DON’T HAVE ANY.” I TRY TO REMEMBER THEIR NAMES, THEIR BIRTHDAYS. THE EXACT TIME THEY WERE BORN. I AM SURE I KNEW THOSE DETAILS. BUT NOW I CAN’T RECALL. FIRST THEY FADE AWAY, THEN THEY DISAPPEAR. IT’S ALL GETTING BEWILDERING AND FRIGHTENING. ONE DAY I AM SPEAKING TO MY WIFE, GILL. AND THEN THE NEXT DAY SHE IS NOWHERE TO BE SEEN. I WENT ROUND THE HOUSE SCREAMING OUT HER NAME FOR DAYS. BUT NO REPLY CAME. I WAITED FOR GILL TO RETURN TO THE HOUSE, TO TURN UP. BUT SHE NEVER DID. I WAS QUITE ALONE IN THIS HOUSE. I LOOKED FOR PHOTOGRAPHS OF GILL OR ONE OF THE CHILDREN. THERE WASN’T ANY. JUST PHOTOGRAPHS OF STRANGERS. NO ONE I ASK HAS EVER HEARD OF GILL OR KNEW THAT I WAS MARRIED TO HER. THEY TELL ME I USED TO BE MARRIED BUT WAS DIVORCED YEARS AGO.

THERE WAS NOTHING I COULD DO TO STOP IT HAPPENING. THE WORLD THAT I THOUGHT I KNEW WAS CRUMBLING AROUND ME LIKE A SANDCASTLE WASHED OVER BY AN INCOMING TIDE. FIRST THEY FADE AWAY, THEN THEY DISAPPEAR. MY LIFE HAD JUST MELTED AWAY. THEN CAME THE DAY I DREADED. I AWOKE IN EMPTINESS. NOTHING WAS FAMILIAR ANYMORE. I WAS LEFT IN AN EMPTY WASTELAND. THE BUILDINGS , ROADS AND PEOPLE I KNEW ARE NOWHERE TO BE SEEN. WHAT’S LEFT IS A STRANGE WORLD FILLED WITH STRANGE FACES AND VOICES. EVERYTHING IS UNFAMILIAR. BUT I REMEMBER THERE WAS A TOWN HERE AND SHOUT WHERE HAS IT GONE? I FRANTICALLY SEARCH. POINTING OUT WHERE THE ROAD, THE SCHOOL OR THE PUB USED TO BE. I CALL OUT TO THE FRIENDS AND FAMILY THAT I KNEW SO WELL. I AM SHOUTING AND YELLING INTO THE WIND. THE STRANGERS AROUND ME ARE FRIGHTENED. A VAN COMES TO GET ME. THEY SAY I’M CRAZY AND DANGEROUS AND NEED TO BE LOCKED UP FOR MY OWN GOOD. AND NOW I’M IN THIS PLACE. IT’S WALLED AND SECURE. THEY SAY I’M TROUBLED BY HALLUCINATIONS AND MADE UP WORLDS. THAT I DON’T LIVE IN REALITY , BUT TALK ABOUT IMAGINARY PEOPLE AND THIS PLACE CALLED “WHITLOCK” THAT DOESN’T EXIST. THEY KEEP ON TELLING ME THIS PLACE, “WHITLOCK”, THAT I’M ALWAYS GOING ON ABOUT DOESN’T EXIST NEVER EXISTED OR THE PEOPLE THAT I SAID I KNEW. THEY SAY THAT I’VE LIVED IN A PLACE CALLED TEMPERSON FOR THE PAST FOUR YEARS. THEY TELL ME I’VE GOT TO LIVE IN THE REAL WORLD. BUT THIS PLACE THEY CALL “TEMPERSON” HAS NO REALITY FOR ME. THERE WERE SOME PEOPLE WHO COME TO VISIT ME NOW AND AGAIN. I’M TOLD THEY ARE MY FAMILY BUT THEY LOOK NOTHING LIKE THE FAMILY I HAD IN WHITLOCK. MY WIFE, I AM TOLD, IS CALLED SAMANTHA AND I NOW HAVE THREE DAUGHTERS, NOT THREE SONS. SAMANTHA AND I HAD BEEN DIVORCED FOR FIVE YEARS. APPARENTLY I HAD BEEN UNBEARABLE TO BE AROUND SINCE I WAS SACKED FROM MY JOB ON THE CAR PRODUCTION LINE. I WAS AT THIS JOB FOR 18 YEARS.

I DIDN’T REMEMBER ANYTHING. I DIDN’T RECOGNIZE ANY OF THEM. THEY WERE STRANGERS TO ME. OBVIOUSLY IMPOSTERS. THEY GOT VERY DISTRESSED AFTER THE LAST VISIT. I GOT VERY UPSET AND ANGRY. WHERE HAVE MY REAL WIFE AND CHILDREN GONE? I WANT TO SEE GILL. SHE IS THE ONE WHO SPEAKS TO ME IN MY DREAMS. I SCREAM OUT HER NAME AT NIGHT. I TELL EVERYONE I AM MARRIED TO GILL. NO ONE WILL BELIEVE ME. THEY TOOK ME TO A LARGE LIBRARY IN A STRANGE TOWN. I SPENT A WHOLE DAY THERE. NONE OF THE REFERENCE BOOKS OR THE PAPERS MADE ANY MENTION OF “WHITLOCK”. OR ANY RECORDS FROM THE PAST THAT IT EVER EXISTED. THERE WAS NO SIGN OF THE “HERALD”.

OR ANY RECORD IT HAD EXISTED. NONE OF THE LIBRARIANS KNEW ANYTHING ABOUT “WHITLOCK” OR GILL. I BELIEVED IT WAS ALL A CONSPIRACY THAT WAS ALL SET UP TO SHAKE WHITLOCK OUT OF ME. I KNOW THAT WHITLOCK EXISTED. I WAS THERE FOR YEARS. BUT I KNOW THEY JUST TOOK OUT ALL THE REFERENCES TO THE TOWN BEFORE I GOT THERE. THEY ARE TRYING TO TRICK ME THAT THE TOWN CALLED WHITLOCK NEVER EXISTED. THAT GILL NEVER EXISTED OR THE THREE CHILDREN. THEY WILL NEVER SUCCEED IN DRIVING OUT MY MEMORIES. THEY ARE ALL LYING, I ALONE KNOW THE TRUTH. WHITLOCK IS OUT THERE , SOMEWHERE. SO IS GILL. AND OUR THREE SONS. GILL IS OUT THERE SOMEWHERE, WAITING FOR ME. I WILL NEVER STOP SEARCHING FOR WHITLOCK AND GILL AND OUR SONS. FIRST THEY FADE AWAY, THEN THEY DISAPPEAR. FOR I REMEMBER THE GARDEN THAT I LOOKED OUT ONTO EVERY MORNING FULL OF TREES AND BUSHES…

FIFTY TW: BUGS

I BLINKED AND LOOKED AGAIN. MY EYES ARE NOT DECEIVING ME. THE MERCURY HAS HIT FIFTY FOR THE THIRTEENTH NIGHT IN A ROW. SHADOWS ARE CREEPING ACROSS OUR WALLS, BUT THE MERCURY NEVER FALLS BELOW FIFTY. FIFTY CELSIUS ! ENDLESS SWELTERING, SULTRY, SIMMERING, BALMY NIGHTS UNDER SIRIUS’S STERN, SEARING GAZE. THESE ARE DOG DAYS AND NIGHTS INDEED. ALL ROOMS BATHED IN A BRUTAL, BURNING AND BLISTERING HEAT. WHEN WILL THIS OPPRESSIVE, STICKY HEAT END? WE ARE ALL SUFFERING THE HARSHNESS OF HELIOS'S RELENTLESS GLARE. A REAL HELL ON EARTH. LIVING WITH THE WHIRLS AND WHINES OF ENDLESSLY FRENZIED FANS IN THIS GODFORSAKEN FURNACE. SENDING US ALL MAD. OUR FEVERED MINDS SPOUT OUT ALL SORTS OF GROTESQUE NONSENSE AND GIBBERISH FROM OUR ESTRANGED TONGUES. IN THIS INFERNAL INFERNO MOUTHS ARE PERMANENTLY PARCHED. I AM DRINKING CONTAINER AFTER CONTAINER OF WATER , BUT THERE IS NO HOPE OF QUENCHING THE INSATIABLE THIRST. STRANGE THINGS HAPPEN WHEN THE MERCURY HITS FIFTY FOR SO MANY NIGHTS IN A ROW. THERE IS OBVIOUSLY THE UNCOMFORTABLE SLEEP OF NEARLY EVERYONE. THE LACK OF SLEEP. REST IS BANISHED. THE ABUNDANCE OF SWEAT. NERVES BECOME FRAYED. THIS SLEEP ISN’T RESTFUL. IT’S A FITFUL FIEND FULL OF TORMENTS AND TORTURES. SLEEP HAS SLUNK AWAY AND DESERTED ME. THE BEDS BURN AND SCALD WITH ITS FIERY EMBRACE. AND LEFT ME WITH THE RESTLESS AND BEGUILING DISTURBING DREAMS OF NEPTUNE. THESE ARE FILLED WITH DECEPTION, ILLUSION AND MYSTERY I CANNOT UNDERSTAND. I AM UNSETTLED AND DEEPLY TROUBLED. OUT THERE, SOMEWHERE SOMETHING STRANGE AND UNWHOLESOME STIRS AND SIMMERS. I STRIKE OUT AT UNSEEN, EMPTY PHANTOMS THAT FLIT SUDDENLY ABOUT MY BODY, ASSAILING MY SENSES. THE HEADACHES FEEL LIKE CRUSHING HANDS PLACED BETWEEN MY TEMPLE. THE HEAT IS SENDING HALLUCINATIONS, VIVID DREAMS, NIGHTMARES, HORRORS AND TERRORS MY WAY. THE SWEATING TERROR IS THE WORST. THE SWEAT THAT RUNS INTO SWELLING, STINGING BOILS THAT BURST AND MULTIPLY EVERY NIGHT AND FLOW THEIR BURNING LIQUID INTO WIDENING SORES.

I SEE FLASHING LIGHTS THAT CLASH AND STRIKE THE GROUND LIKE THE SOUND OF A THOUSAND STABBING SABRES, SUMMONED BY THE THREATENING SATURNINE SKIES. THOSE STABBING SABRES ARE STALKING ME AS I WALK ACROSS FIERY PAVEMENTS, SIZZLING SIDEWALKS OR FIELDS THAT HAVE BECOME BLACKENED INFERNOS. FIELDS OF FLAME ARE ALL AROUND. I AM SCOLDED AND SCALDED UNCEASINGLY. THERE IS NO HIDING PLACE NOR SOLACE FROM THE BURNING HEAT. AROUND ME, I SEE PATHETIC FRAGMENTED FIGURES KNEEL AND WAIL BENEATH FLICKERING NEON YELLOWED LIGHTS. STRANGERS ARE MEETING AND FRANTICALLY ENTWINING IN THE HEAT. THEY MAKE STRANGE MOANS AND WHINES. SCORCHED SKIES ARE SCRATCHED AND PRICKED BY SCREAMING SPIRES. THE TENSION IS PALPABLE AND UNBEARABLE. I HAVE THAT FEELING THAT SOMEONE OR SOMETHING IS OUT THERE. WATCHING ME, OUT TO GET ME. THIS FEELING GROWS STRONGER AND STRONGER. SOMETHING IS ABOUT TO BURST. THERE IS A WHIRRING SOUND. IT'S COMING FROM SOMEWHERE I CAN'T PINPOINT. IT MAKES ME ANXIOUS. IT’S OUT THERE AND HEADING MY WAY. GETTING CLOSER AND CLOSER. IN THIS UNCEASING HEAT THINGS START TO LOSE THEIR SHAPE. WALLS AND DOORS START TO BEND, BUCKLE AND BOW. SOLID OBJECTS FOLD OVER FLOP AND DRIP LIKE A DALI PAINTING. THE FLOORS ARE TREACHEROUS. EACH STEP IS FULL OF RISK AND UNCERTAINTY. SWELLING, BELLOWING AND HEAVING. I FEAR I'LL BE SWALLOWED UP AND NEVER SEEN AGAIN. PEOPLE’S FACES START TO SLIDE AND MELT. HEADS SINKING INTO THEIR BODIES. FAMILIAR FACES ARE UNRECOGNIZABLE FEARFULLY, FRIGHTENING STRANGE THINGS ARE CONSTANTLY BEING CREATED AND RECREATED. THEIR FACES START TO RUN. MOUTHS ARE LOPSIDED. NOSES ARE MELTING AND EYES CLOSING. I CAN SEE THEIR SKIN COVERED IN SWEAT. IT LOOKS LIKE A MEMBRANE. I’M NOT SURE THAT THEY ARE PEOPLE ANY MORE. IN THE BACKGROUND A FAINT WHIRRING SOUND IS INCREASING. CLOSER AND CLOSER. LOUDER AND LOUDER.

IN THIS BLAZING HEAT, SOUNDS AND VOICES STRIKE STRANGE, HARSH, DISCORDANT NOTES. I CAN HEAR SOME UNWORLDLY WEIRD THINGS, PICKED UP FROM SOMEWHERE. ALL THE ANIMALS HOWL AND SCREECH THEIR SICKNESS. EARS VEXED BY THE SHARP SHRILL SHRIEKS OF INSECTS. UNKNOWN VOICES SCREAM OUT DIRE PROPHECIES. I AM LISTENING TO EVIL WORDS OF WICKED CONSPIRACIES AND REMEMBERING ALARMING LURID NIGHTMARES. THEY LEAVE THEIR VILE HORRIFYING ECHOES UPON ME. A LINGERING TOUCH THAT DOES NOT LEAVE ME. LEADING, DRAGGING ME TO DANGER AND NEW TERRORS. SMELLS ARE DIFFERENT IN THIS TERRIBLE HEAT. SICKLY SWEET SMELLS OF VANILLA AND ALMONDS SUFFUSED WITH BURNING SULPHUROUS GASES. LIKE I’M LIVING IN A NEW FRIGHTENING CHARNEL WORLD. AND THE WHIRRING SOUND IS BECOMING CLEARER AND LOUDER. I SHUDDER AND SHAKE. IT’S HEADING IN MY DIRECTION. IT COMES THIS WAY. AND I SWEAT AND SWEAT. TALL TREES BEND AND DANCE TO A SLOW LAZY LATIN BEAT. SOMEWHERE OUT THERE BONGOS DRUM INCESSANTLY. CHANTING OUT THEIR INFERNAL MESSAGE. DRIVING OUT THE LAST FRAGMENTS OF PEACE FROM MY BRAIN. I SEE ENORMOUS NETTLES AND VINES ENTANGLE AND ENTWINE, GRASPING AND STRANGLING ONE ANOTHER. AND SOMETHING MORE UNSETTLING AND MONSTROUS EMERGES IN THE GARDEN. IT HAS A LARGE UGLY FACE. A FACE WITH A LARGE EVIL GRIN. LOOKING LEERINGLY WITHIN. IT CAN SEE ME. IT LURCHES AND LUNGES TOWARDS ME. THE BRANCHES OF THE TREES ARE EXTENDING ENORMOUSLY AND COME CREEPING AND SEARCHING FOR MY WINDOW. TAPPING ITS UNSETTLING SOUNDS AS IT REACHES OUT ITS MONSTROUS ARMS. IT'S SEEKING ME. INCREDIBLY, THE STALKS PASS THROUGH THE WINDOW STRETCHING TO REACH AND GRAB MY HANDS. IT'S LOOKING FOR MY FACE. SUDDENLY I FEEL SHARP PAIN AS THOUGH PRICKED BY SEVERAL THORNS. I LOOK OUT OF THE WINDOW. THE STREET AND HOUSES ARE SHIMMERING. THE NEARBY TOWER BLOCKS LEAN AND SASHAY MENACINGLY AND PRECARIOUSLY. SURELY THEY WILL TOPPLE AT ANY MOMENT? AND I SWEAT AND SWEAT. AND GULP AND GASP FOR BREATH.

THAT WHIRRING SEEMS TO BE VERY CLOSE. WAITING FOR ME ROUND EVERY CORNER. TILL I CAN STAND NO MORE AND RUN OUT OF THE HOUSE INTO THE STRANGE SULLEN STREETS. I AM CONFRONTED BY HORRIBLE TASTING AIR. ROTTEN FOUL SMELLING STEAM EXPLORES THE AIR ABOVE THE MANHOLE COVERS AND EMERGES CREEPING AND PROWLING FROM CULVERTS. THE STEAM SPREADS ITS STINKING STENCH AND FOUL BREATH CURLING TO ITS SIDES. I AM SICK AND START RETCHING. I SEE RATS AND OTHER FOUL MISSHAPEN VERMIN SCURRY AWAY SCREAMING TOWARDS THE WATER TO DIVE IN AND DROWN. ALL AROUND ME THINGS THAT USED TO BE PEOPLE ARE DRAGGING THEMSELVES ACROSS THE GROUND. THEY ARE SLITHERING DOWN TOWARDS SWELTERING AND SUFFOCATING SUBWAYS. ANYTHING TO ESCAPE THIS LOCKED SAUNA OF A CITY. I LOOK ABOVE ME THE MOON HAS SLASHED THE SKY TO REVEAL A SLIT IN THE AIR. THROUGH THE GAPING BLACK ABYSS, I CAN SEE HIDEOUS DEMONIC SHAPES WAITING TO MAKE THEIR WAY DOWN TO THE GROUND. THE SOUNDS OF THAT INFERNAL WHIRRING HAS GOT LOUDER AND LOUDER. IT'S NEARER AND NEARER. MY EARS ARE BURSTING. I RUN DOWN UNKNOWN FRAGMENTED STREETS. THE HOUSES LOOK LIKE THEY ARE BURNING. BUT THIS IS NO SMOKE, BUT THE SAME FOUL SMELLING GAS THAT COVERS US ALL. CLINGING LIKE LICE. FOUL FILTH AND SWEAT MINGLE ABOUT US LIKE A SECOND SKIN. AND IT'S CHOKING! IT’S LIKE THE DETRITUS OF HELL AND HUMANITY HAVE CONJOINED INTO SOME TERRIBLE TURBID TANGO. I AM STRUGGLING TO BREATHE! THAT HORRIBLE WHIRRING SOUND IS CLOSE TO MY SKIN. THE HAIRS ON MY SKIN RECOIL. I FEEL THAT I CAN ALMOST TOUCH IT. I TRY, BUT GET THROWN BACK. SOMETHING HORRIBLE IS CRAWLING TOWARDS ME. IT HITS. I FEEL LIKE A SMALL CAR HAS SLAMMED INTO ME. I’M DAZED AND BEWILDERED. MY EYES HALF CLOSED. THEN SOMETHING GRABS ME. I AM THROWN AROUND BY SOME UNSEEN FORCE TILL THE WALLS TURN BLACK AND DISSOLVE IN FRONT OF ME.

*** THE MUDDY WATERS IN FRONT OF MY EYES CLEARS AND I FIND I AM TIED DOWN TO A BED, WRISTS BURNING. A TERRIBLE NIGHTMARE? I CAN’T MOVE. I START TO PANIC! AROUND ME I CAN MAKE OUT LOTS OF FACELESS FIGURES IN GOWNS AND MASKS CARRYING FEARSOME SHINY METALLIC INSTRUMENTS. A LOT OF THE INSTRUMENTS HAVE VERY SHARP TEETH. I TRY TO CALL OUT, BUT NO SOUNDS WILL COME FROM ME. JUST THE BEADS OF SWEAT ROLLING DOWN MY FACE. THESE FACELESS FIENDS MOVE AROUND ME SMOOTHLY AND SILENTLY LIKE GLIDING GHOSTS. THE FACELESS FIGURES CARRY ON AROUND ME, OBLIVIOUS TO MY PRESENCE. A SCREEN IS DRAWN OVER MY CHEST SO I CANNOT SEE THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BED OR BEYOND MY BELLY BUTTON. THE FACELESS FIGURES SEEM ALL TOO EAGER TO SHOW ME THE MIGHTY CUTTING IMPLEMENTS. I AM DRAGGED UP ROUGHLY BY TWO OF THEM. A THIRD ADVANCES ON ME WITH A LARGE NEEDLE, FILLED WITH A GLISTENING RED LIQUID. I FEEL A SHARP PAIN IN MY LOWER BACK AS THE NEEDLE IS THRUST IN. I’VE NEVER FELT SUCH PAIN AND I SCREAM OUT A SILENT SCREAM. MY BODY SHAKES IN A SPASM FOR A FEW SECONDS. THE FACELESS HORRORS LET GO OF ME AND I SLUMP BACK INTO BED. MY LEGS ARE NUMB , TOTALLY UNRESPONSIVE TO MY WANTS. I AM PARALYSED. AND THEN THE WHIRRING BEGINS AT THE OTHER SIDE OF THE SCREEN. A HARSH WHINE AS THE METAL HITS BONE I PRESUME. AND THEN I SEE MORE FACELESS FIGURES CARRYING LARGE GLASS TUBES FULL OF A PINKISH MIXTURE OF BLOOD AND FLESH. THE WHIRRING CARRIES ON AS FRAGMENTS OF BONE ARE CARRIED OUT ON TRAYS. THERE IS A NOD FROM ONE OF THE FACELESS FIGURES. A NEW FACELESS FIGURE ENTERS FROM A NEW DOOR. THEY ARE VERY CAREFULLY CARRYING SOMETHING. IT'S MOVING. IT'S SLOWLY WRIGGLING. IT LOOKS LIKE A LARGE COCKROACH WITH MANY TENDRILS. ALL MOVING IN SOME SLOW RHYTHMIC WRIGGLING MOTION. THEY CARRY THIS FOUL, DISGUSTING HORROR BEHIND THE SCREEN.

AND THEN THE INTENSE PAIN AND A STINGING I’VE NEVER KNOWN. ANOTHER NEEDLE IS THRUST INTO MY ARM. AND THEN THE FACELESS FIGURES LEAVE THE ROOM. BUT WITHOUT THE COCKROACH HORROR THEY BROUGHT IT……..SURELY NOT? NO! BUT THE WORLD QUICKLY GOES INTO A SILENT INKY BLACK SWIRL. *** I WOKE UP. I DON’T KNOW HOW MUCH TIME HAS PASSED OR WHERE I AM. MY SKIN FEELS LIKE STINGING SANDPAPER TO TOUCH. THE AIR AROUND FEELS LIKE IT'S SCOLDING THE SKIN. I SEE THAT THE MERCURY INSIDE THE TUBE STILL SHOWS FIFTY. THIS TERRIBLE HEAT DRAGS ON. I LOOK AT THE WINDOW. THE CLASHING SABRES OUTSIDE HAVE BECOME WORSE. THEY ARE EVEN MORE INTENSE AND FURIOUS. SUN AND MOON SWOON AND MERGE. THE STARS ARE SPINNING AND SPLINTERING, SENDING SPARKS FAR AWAY INTO SPACE. VENUS AND JUPITER EMBRACE AND COALESCE INTO AN ENORMOUS WOBBLING, GLOBULOUS MASS AS ALL COLOUR DRAINS FROM THE BLUE AND GREEN PLANET. NIGHT AFTER NIGHT. SWEAT UPON SWEAT. THIS CAN’T GO ON. THINGS ARE GETTING WORSE. PEOPLE’S TONGUES HAVE BECOME SLICED LIKE FLOPPY SEAWEED. I CHANCED UPON A NEIGHBOUR'S BODY LYING SPRAWLED OVER A PILE OF SMOULDERING RUBBLE. I SAW THAT THEIR STOMACH HAD BEEN EATEN AND TORN OPEN FROM THE INSIDE, OUT OF WHICH FLOWED THOUSANDS OF HATEFUL CREATURES THAT LOOKED LIKE GIANT BEETLES WITH MANY LEGS. THEY HAD FEELERS AT THE FRONT WHICH WERE TWITCHING AS THOUGH SEARCHING FOR SOMETHING OR SOMEONE. I RAN AWAY NOT WANTING IT TO BE ME THEY WERE SEARCHING FOR. IT REMINDED ME OF THAT HORRIBLE DREAM I’D HAD THE PREVIOUS NIGHT. WAS IT A DREAM? ON THE TWENTY THIRD CONSECUTIVE NIGHT THAT THE MERCURY SHOWED FIFTY, THE CREATURES WITH TENTACLES AND CLAWS TAKE OVER.

THEY EMERGED OUT DRIPPING IN SLIME OUT OF THE CRIMSON SEAS BATHED IN STEAM. THESE TERRIFYING TENTACLED ONES WITH LONG WHIPPING AND LASHING ARMS, CAPTURED AND CRUSHED EVERYTHING THAT STOOD IN THEIR PATH. THEY CHASED AWAY THE DAY AND LIGHT WAS SWEPT AWAY. THE WORLD FELL UNDER THE DOMINION OF DARKNESS. A FEW FRIGHTENED SHADOWS SCUTTLED INTO THE CRACKS OF THE WALLS. THEY QUICKLY SPED UNDERGROUND TO KEEP ALL THE DESOLATE SHADES IN HADES COMPANY. ON THE SURFACE THINGS WHICH WERE BARELY HUMAN HAD BECOME THE NEW VERMIN. EVERY NIGHT I SCREAMED “WHEN WILL THE DAMNED MERCURY GO LOWER?” WE ARE LOSING OUR EYESIGHT, OUR HEARING, OUR TOUCH , LOSING FINGERS AND TOES BY THE TIME DAY TWENTY FIVE HAD ENDED. HUMANITY IS TURNING INTO SOMETHING UNSPEAKABLY GROTESQUE AND UGLY. I WITNESS ALL AROUND ME BECOME A MASS OF WRIGGLING, WRITHING WORMS. THEN TOWERING ABOVE THESE I SAW AN ARMY OF ROBOTS, UNLEASHED BY MARS, THE GOD OF WAR. THE ROBOTS MARCH IN COUNTLESS COLUMNS STRIDING TOWARDS THE CITIES TO DO BATTLE WITH THE DREGS OF HUMANITY THAT STILL SURVIVE. THE SKY IS LIT UP WITH A VIVID CRIMSON HUE. SEA , SKY AND CITY BATHED IN RED. SO MUCH BLOOD HAS ALREADY BEEN SHED. AND A LOT MORE WILL FLOW BEFORE THIS ALL ENDS. FOR WHO CAN WITHSTAND THIS ONSLAUGHT FROM THE TERRIFYING TENTACLED ONES AND THEIR RUTHLESS ROBOTS? AND STILL THE MERCURY RELENTLESSLY RISES. THE PRESSURE ON MY HEAD IS IMMENSE. CAN’T STAND IT, MY HEAD WILL SURELY EXPLODE SOON. I FEEL MY BODY BUBBLING OVER WITH THE MOVEMENTS OF LOTS OF BUBBLES INSIDE, ALL HEADING TOWARDS MY HEAD. BUT ON THE TWENTY EIGHTH DAY, FINALLY, THE MERCURY FALLS. I LOOK AT THE TUBE AND IT'S ONLY AT 10 AND EVERYTHING AROUND ME STARTS TO COOL. THE CLASHING SABRES ABATE. SILENCE ONCE MORE.

MY HEAD NO LONGER FEELS LIKE IT'S ABOUT TO EXPLODE. THE SHADOWS TENTATIVELY REEMERGED FROM THEIR HIDING PLACES AND THE TENTACLES AND ROBOTS WERE NO MORE. FACES START TO RELOCATE AND REALIGN. I CAN REMEMBER PEOPLE AGAIN. THE WALLS AND DOORS RESUME THEIR SHAPE. THE FIRMENANT AND STARS RESUME THEIR POSITION. THE MOON AND SUN PART AND ONCE MORE GENTLY OCCUPY THE SKY. NO MORE SWEAT, NO MORE GASPING FOR BREATH. AND THE WHIRRING SOUNDS HAD CEASED. BLESSED PEACE. FOR THE FIRST TIME IN AGES I SLEPT PEACEFULLY. I EVEN HAD A PEACEFUL DREAM WHERE I WAS WALKING UP A SMALL HILL THROUGH FIELDS OF GENTLY SWAYING GRASSLAND. I TOUCHED THE TOPS OF THE GRASS STALKS WITH MY FINGERTIPS. IT WAS A SUNNY DAY, BUT PLEASANTLY WARM. MY WIFE , PAULINE, WAS WATCHING ME FROM THE BASE OF THE HILL. SHE WAS WARNING ME TO BE CAREFUL ABOUT THE SERPENTS THAT HID THERE, LYING IN WAIT. *** “JACOB , JACOB.” I FEEL A HAND GENTLY SHAKING MY SHOULDER. MY EYES OPEN. I LOOK AROUND. I CAN SEE A BEDROOM I KNOW VERY WELL. I’M LYING IN A BED. MY OWN BED. MY OWN PILLOWS. I’M NO LONGER BURNING. I LOOK AROUND AND SPOT MY WIFE, PAULINE AND THERE IS A MAN WHO STANDS NEXT TO HER. I’VE NOT SEEN HIM BEFORE. “THIS IS DR FORRESTER. HE HAS BEEN LOOKING AFTER YOU," SHE SAID .

“WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?”, I ASKED. AND THE ONE WHO SHE CALLED DR FORRESTER SPOKE .

“WE’RE GLAD YOU HAVE RETURNED, JACOB. THAT WAS A NASTY FALL YOU HAD AND YOUR TEMPERATURE HAD US WORRIED. IT WAS OVER 100. YOU WERE INDUCED INTO A COMA AFTER THE THIRD DAY. IT'S BEEN OVER A MONTH NOW SINCE WE DID THAT. A WHOLE MONTH ASLEEP. I IMAGINE YOU MUST HAVE A LOT OF DREAMS, IF YOU COULD REMEMBER. WHEN YOU ARE FEELING BETTER YOU CAN TELL ME ALL ABOUT THEM.” I LOOKED AROUND ME AGAIN AND THROUGH THE WINDOW. I GAZED UPON THE TREE THAT GREW AT THE BOTTOM OF OUR GARDEN. IT HAD RESUMED ONCE MORE A REASSURRIDLY RIGID DENDRITIC SHAPE AND THE LEAVES WERE GENTLY WAFTED BY THE BREEZE. PAULINE SPOKE TO DR FORRESTER AND AT THE END FOR SOME REASON I THOUGHT SHE SAID “ZZZZZZZZZZZZ.”

DR FORRESTER ASKED “WELL JACOB, COULD YOU REMEMBER ANYTHING ABOUT THE FALL?” “NO, NOTHING.” I REPLIED. “SOMETIMES THAT HAPPENS WITH SHOCK . THE MEMORY USUALLY COMES BACK LATER. I WILL CALL BACK IN THE NEXT COUPLE OF DAYS TO CHECK YOUR PROGRESS. NOW YOU NEED TO REST ,ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ , YES JACOB PLENTY OF REST.” “BUT WHAT ABOUT ALL THE FREAKISH THUNDERSTORMS AND STIFLING HEAT? THE CONSTANT NIGHTS WHERE IT STAYED AT 50?”, I ASKED. THE DOCTOR REPLIED, “I’M AFRAID THAT WAS ALL IN YOUR DREAMS. THE WEATHER HAS BEEN VERY MILD. IF ANYTHING IT'S BEEN A BIT ON THE COOL SIDE. YES IT MUST HAVE BEEN SOME FALL YOU TOOK.” AND HE JERKED HIS HEAD LIKE IN A LITTLE SPASM. A NERVOUS TICK I THOUGHT? PAULINE SAID ,“REST NOW SEE YOU LATER , ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.” AND HER TONGUE BRIEFLY EMERGED FROM HER MOUTH. BUT IT WAS NO TONGUE I’D EVER KNOWN. IT SEEMED SLICED. I COULD SEE DOZENS OF WRIGGLING PIECES OF SKIN. WAS I IMAGINING IT? WERE MY SENSES PLAYING TRICKS ON ME? IF DR FORRESTER WAS RIGHT I HAD BEEN THROUGH QUITE AN ORDEAL. BUT I COULDN'T REMEMBER THE FALL OR THE THREE DAYS BEFORE THE COMA. THEY BOTH WALKED OUT OF THE ROOM. THEY BOTH WALKED AWKWARDLY. STRANGE, I’D NEVER SEEN PAULINE WALK THAT WAY. SORT OF ALL MECHANICAL , ROBOTIC EVEN. AND THEN I HEARD A KEY IN THE DOOR. LOCKING IT. WHY WAS I BEING LOCKED IN? I TRIED TO GET OUT OF BED. BUT MY LOWER BODY WAS UNRESPONSIVE. I THREW BACK THE BED SHEETS. THERE WERE TWO LEGS, BUT THEY WERE NOT MY LEGS. THEY DID NOT RESPOND TO MY DESIRES. THEY WOULD NOT MOVE WHATEVER I WANTED. I COULD HEAR A VOICE IN THE CORRIDOR. IT WAS DR FORRESTER’S. HE WAS TALKING TO SOMEONE. “WITHIN A WEEK THE IMPLANT WILL HAVE GAINED FULL CONTROL OVER THE SUBJECT. THE OPERATION WAS A COMPLETE SUCCESS. WITHIN ONE WEEK THE HUMAN JACOB ACKFORD WILL BE TAKEN OVER BY THE NARKTA.

HE WILL MAKE A PERFECT HOST. HE WILL PROVIDE LOTS OF NOURISHMENT. THE NARKTA WILL ENJOY CONSUMING HIM. IT WILL GAIN MUCH STRENGTH.” I LOOKED AT THE LEGS ONCE MORE AND COULD SEE ROLLING MOVEMENTS BENEATH THE SKIN. THAT HORRIBLE THING THEY CALLED NARKTA WAS SLOWLY MOVING TOWARDS MY GENITALS. I COULD HEAR THAT WHIRRING SOUND AGAIN. IT WAS COMING FROM INSIDE ME! AND THERE WAS NOTHING I COULD DO ABOUT IT. BUT SCREAM AND SCREAM.

FUCK YOUR APATHY FUCK YOUR APATHY I WANNA FEEL FUCK YOUR FALSENESS I WANT WHAT’S REAL FUCK FAKE SMILES I WANNA SPIT ON THE GROUND AT YOUR FEET FUCK YOUR SILENCE I WANNA THROW MY LUNGS OPEN AND SCREAM FUCK MY SHYNESS I WANNA HOLD HIS GAZE FUCK MY QUIET I WANNA DANCE INSIDE HIS NAME FUCK YOUR NOISE I WANNA MAKE MELODIES FUCK YOUR MASOCHISM I WANT WHAT’S GOOD FOR ME FUCK YOUR FAKE NEWS I WANNA TELL THE TRUTH FUCK YOUR STILLNESS I WANNA MAKE MY MOVE

I’M SO FUCKING BORED OF YOUR SIMPLE SENTENCES I’M SO FUCKING BORED OF SIMPLE SENTENCES GIVE ME SOMETHING TO HANG ON TO A LINE TO REEL ME IN UGH I’M SICK OF PREDICTABILITY ALL THIS HOMOGENEITY EVERYTHING THE SAME SAME SAME I WANT TO BE UNEXPECTED SYNTACTICALLY PROBLEMATIC I WANT YOU TO RUN OUT OF BREATH I WANT THE CRITICS TO SAY WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS I WANT MY OLD ENGLISH TEACHER TO BURN ME AT THE STAKE ALL THE WHILE THE LOVERS THE YOUNG THE HUNGRY EATING ME RIGHT UP LIKE WOLVES DEVOURING SPAGHETTI SLOPPY GRINS DRIPPING POETRY.

THE LOVE IS DONE YOU ARE MY BIGGEST DISAPPOINTMENT I HAVE BEEN HIGH ON DELUSION FOR TOO LONG & NOW I FALL THE SIX INCHES OF YOUR EGO TO THE ANTICLIMACTIC GROUND LIKE OH IT WAS ACTUALLY RIGHT UNDER MY FEET THIS WHOLE TIME I THOUGHT THE SPELL BREAKING WOULD HURT MORE BUT EVERYTHING IS STILL IN TACT EXCEPT MY DIGNITY I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO PLEASE YOU I HAVE BEEN TRYING NOT TO BE TOO MUCH YOU ARE NOT ENOUGH YOU HAVE GIVEN ME NOTHING BUT DISILLUSIONMENT LIKE OH THERE HE GOES AGAIN LETTING ME DOWN WHAT A CLOWN AM I LEAD LOSER IN THE CIRCUS GETTING HUNG UP ON A KISS YOU WERE BARELY BRAVE ENOUGH TO GIVE WHAT HEROIN HAVE YOUR LIPS GOT ON THEM TO HOOK ME ON THE BARE MINIMUM I’M NOT A BARE MINIMUM KIND OF BITCH I GIVE EVERYTHING & I DON’T EXPECT EVERYTHING BACK I JUST WANT SOMETHING A VAGUE ATTEMPT AT EMPATHY AN UNDERSTANDING THAT ISN’T DISMISSED AS SOON AS YOU HAVE TO EXPLORE BEYOND THE BOUNDARIES OF YOUR LIMITED PERCEPTION

THERE IS SO MUCH MORE TO LIFE THAN ARROGANT WHITE MEN ON TIKTOK THIS IS SOMETHING I AM LEARNING THERE IS SO MUCH MORE TO MEN THAN YOU HOW EMBARRASSING THAT I STUMBLED & SETTLED SO FAR BELOW MY OWN STANDARDS BUT I’M ON MY FEET AGAIN & IT FEELS A WHOLE LOT MORE GROUNDED NO LONGER MOTHERING MEN WITH THEIR VICTIM COMPLEXES CLUTCHING AT WOUNDS LIKE THEY’RE NOT SELF-INFLICTED DID YOU WANT MY RESPECT OR JUST MY PITY? COS THE LOVE IS DONE IT’S ALL USED UP IT’S BROKEN & IT’S GONE IT’S LOST ITS FORM IT’S LOST ITS SHAPE IT’S LOST ITS VERY NAME IT’S FUCKED UP & DERANGED IT’S LOVE TURNED HATE IT’S WHAT A FUCKING SHAME THAT YOU COULDN’T BE BETTER. THAT YOU COULDN’T BE GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME.

THIS IS NOT A LIKE POEM THIS IS A LOVE POEM THIS IS NOT A LIKE POEM IT’S A LOVE POEM & IT IS HERE TO SAY THAT YOU WERE THE BEST THING SINCE THE VERY BEGINNING & IT KINDA BAFFLES ME HOW I KNEW SOON AS I SAW YOU MAYBE COS YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL OR MAYBE JUST SOME KIND OF VIBE THE ENERGY YOU GET WHEN YOU MIX PURPLE & BLUE LIKE A MIDNIGHT KINDA QUIET OR MAYBE IT WAS JUST DIVINE MUMMA WITH HER BIG FLASHING ARROW POINTING RIGHT AT YOU. YOU GET BETTER AND BETTER THE MORE I KNOW YOU WHICH SEEMS AN IMPOSSIBLE CONCEPT COS HOW CAN SOMEONE GO FROM AN IDEAL TO A REALITY & EXPONENTIALLY IMPROVE I GUESS THE REASON INCLUDES YOUR DAZZLING LACK OF EGO WHICH I GUESS IS AN ASPECT OF BEING ANGELIC & YOUR TOTAL LACK OF CAPACITY FOR HATRED OR ANGER OR JEALOUSY SWAPPED OUT MAYBE FOR AN EXTRA DOSE OF SADNESS WHICH I WISH I COULD TAKE FROM YOU THE WAY YOU TRANSMUTE MY PAIN & RAGE WITHOUT EVEN INTENDING TO. MY HEART GOES THROUGH THE ENTIRE REINCARNATION PROCESS WHEN I LOOK AT YOU FROM LIFE TO DEATH TO LIFE AGAIN & IF TOMORROW NEVER CAME WHILE YOU WERE TREASURED IN MY GAZE I PROBABLY WOULDN’T NOTICE

SEE ALL MY OVERDUE I LOVE YOU’S MUST’VE GOT LOST IN THE MAIL OR MAYBE THAT’S A LIE & I JUST ADDRESSED THEM TO MYSELF COS I SUPPOSE IN A WAY MY LOVE FOR YOU WAS FOR ME & ME ALONE AN UNREQUITED GLORY THAT KEPT ME AFLOAT THAT GAVE ME HOPE THAT MADE MY WORLD JUST THAT LITTLE BIT MORE BRILLIANT BUT AT THE END OF THE DAY WITH YOU SO FAR AWAY I WANT YOU TO KNOW ABOUT IT I WANT YOU TO KNOW THE WAY YOU TOOK MY HEART & MADE IT SOFTER THE WAY YOU GAVE ME SOMETHING TO DREAM ABOUT EVERY NIGHT WATERFALLS ON REPEAT LIKE A LULLABY I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT YOU’RE THE BEST THING IN AUCKLAND CITY & THAT YOU LOOK LIKE THE WAY ALL THE LIGHTS DRIP INTO THE HARBOUR WHEN YOU’RE DRIVING BACK OVER THE BRIDGE AT NIGHT & THAT WHEN I SAW YOU PART OF ME STOPPED LOOKING AT ANYBODY ELSE COS THERE’S NOTHING MORE PRECIOUS OR MAJESTIC THAN YOU WITH YOUR SHY SMILE AND YOUR PERFECT MUSIC & THE WAY YOU GET EXCITED WHEN YOU TALK ABOUT SOMETHING YOU’RE PASSIONATE ABOUT & THE WAY YOU REALLY LISTEN & THE WAY YOU LOVE WITH THE SAME TENDER FEROCITY AS I DO & I GUESS IT WAS A GOOD THING IT WASN’T ME WHO RECEIVED IT COS IT WOULD’VE TAINTED THE INFALLIBILITY OF THE WHOLE AFFAIR & MY LOVE FOR YOU WOULD’VE BEEN A WEAPON OR A WOUND INSTEAD OF A BLESSING, A COMFORT & A MUSE. AT THE END OF THE DAY I WANNA TELL YOU THAT NONE OF THEM WERE LIKE POEMS & ALL OF THEM WERE LOVE POEMS COS THIS WAS NEVER A TRIVIAL THING THIS WAS NEVER LIKE THE REST

COS YOU WERE THE BEST, YOU WERE ALWAYS THE BEST & MY HEART’S AN ETERNAL GIFT TO YOU RECIPROCATED BY ITS OWN TRUTH.

STELLA’S STARS

STELLA EXPLAINED THAT LEARNING HOW TO CALCULATE REDSHIFT HAD A “CATASTROPHIC” EFFECT ON HER SPIRITUALLY. SHE HAD JUST STARTED HER ASTROPHYSICS CLASS AND WAS RUMINATING ON HOW, “EVERYTHING’S MATH, DUDE, LIKE ALL OF IT,” WHILE WE SMOKED. LATER, SHE TOLD US THAT THE LEMONADE WE’D JUST DRANK HAD BEEN SPIKED WITH LIQUID LSD, AND SHORTLY THEREAFTER, WE REDSHIFTED TOO. WE PHASED OUTDOORS, WHERE THE PEOPLE OF THE WORLD WERE TOO REAL TO BE REAL, THEIR TEXTURES SCREAMING AT US, SHARPENED IN PHOTOSHOP 1666%. WHEN STELLA ASKED THEM QUESTIONS, THEIR EXPRESSIONS WERE EXAGGERATED AND CARTOONISH, THEIR MOVEMENTS SUDDEN IN SLOW-MOTION. “WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE NUMBER?” STELLA THRUST A VAPE PEN AS A MICROPHONE NEAR THE CHIN OF A SURLY-LOOKING HIGH SCHOOLER OF INDETERMINATE GENDER WEARING EMO-REVIVAL EYELINER. “UH, THIRTY-EIGHT,” THEY SAID BEFORE LEANING IN AND TAKING A HIT. STELLA HELD THE BUTTON FOR THEM. “GOOD FOR YOU, THAT’S YOUR GOD NOW, BABY,” STELLA TOLD THEM BEFORE SKIPPING OFF INTO THE DOWNTOWN CROWD. HER WORSHIP OF MATH GREW STRONGER IN THE FOLLOWING WEEKS. WE WATCHED PI AND SHE SCRAWLED THE DIGITS ON ME WITH LIQUID BLACK EYELINER, THE KIND WITH A BRUSH TIP LENDING ITSELF TO A FLORID CALLIGRAPHY TECHNIQUE. SHE GREW FRUSTRATED WHEN SHE REACHED THE BOTTOM OF MY FEET AND RAN OUT OF ROOM. I ASKED HER THEN IF SHE WANTED TO GET A SECOND GIRLFRIEND SO SHE COULD HAVE MORE CANVAS TO WORK ON AND SHE SAID SHE WAS SERIOUSLY CONSIDERING IT. WE PHASED INTO THE FUTURE AND THERE WERE TWELVE OF US, WITH STELLA MAKING THIRTEEN. WE WERE ALL COVERED IN THE NUMBERS NOW EXCEPT SHE’D GRADUATED TO A TATTOO MACHINE. WE COULD BE READ SEQUENTIALLY, EACH WITH OUR UNIQUE BARCODE, OUR PLACE IN PI, OUR SERIAL NUMBERS. USUALLY, WE CALLED IT A CIRCLE WITH THE PUN FULLY INTENDED. STELLA LAUGHED WHEN SHE CALLED US HER CULT BUT WE WERE TOO BUSY ORBITING HER TO REALIZE IT WASN’T A POSTMODERN JOKE.

SHE WAS ALWAYS THE TYPE TO TELL YOU EXACTLY WHO SHE WAS, AS IMPROBABLE AS IT ALWAYS SEEMED, LIKE THE TIME OUR JUNIOR YEAR WHEN SHE TOLD ME SHE WAS AN ALIEN OVER VEGAN SUSHI. “MAMABEAR TOLD ME WHEN I WAS AN ITTY BITTY BABY.” HER LATE MOTHER HAD BEEN DIAGNOSED SCHIZOPHRENIC, BUT STELLA THOUGHT THAT WAS AN UNFAIR LABEL. SHE WANTED TO LET ME KNOW, SHE SAID, BECAUSE SHE’D BEEN THINKING A LOT AND SHE’D COME TO THE CONCLUSION THAT THE GOAL OF HER LIFE FROM THIS POINT FORWARD WOULD BE TO GO TO HER HOME WORLD AND FIND HER PEOPLE. WITH THIS, SHE POPPED A PIECE OF TEMPURA AVOCADO INTO HER MOUTH WITH HER CHOPSTICKS. IT WASN’T NECESSARY FOR HER TO ASK ME TO HELP, IT WAS A GIVEN. STELLA FOUNDED STELLA’S STARS OFFICIALLY THE DAY AFTER GRADUATION. IT WAS OSTENSIBLY A SOCIETY OF FEMALE SCIENTISTS, JOINED TOGETHER TO ENCOURAGE YOUNG WOMEN IN STEM. AT OUR EVERGREEN CAMPUS OUTSIDE SEATTLE, THERE WAS A SUMMER CAMP FOR YOUNG ADULTS, AND WE ALSO HOSTED COLLEGIATE HACKATHONS IN NOVEMBER AND APRIL. WE RECRUITED THE BRIGHTEST AND MOST AMBITIOUS FROM BOTH OF THESE PROGRAMS. WE WOULD THEN GUIDE THEM THROUGH FINISHING THEIR STUDIES, AFTER WHICH POINT THEY WOULD WORK FOR US. EACH STUDENT MADE A COMMITMENT OF 2 YEARS OF EMPLOYMENT POST-GRAD. OF COURSE, THEY WERE WELCOME TO LEAVE AFTER THAT, BUT NO ONE HAD. STELLA PICKED OUT, PERSONALLY, THE MOST REBELLIOUS OF THE GROUPS, AND RECRUITED THEM FOR MORE INTENSIVE TRAINING. “WE NEED DISRUPTORS ON OUR SIDE,” SHE TOLD ME. AND SO, ONE AFTER ONE, WE BROKE THEM AND REFORMED THEM TO BE STRONGER, SMARTER, FASTER, AND MORE ATTUNED TO STELLA AND THE ORGANIZATION’S NEEDS. OUR SPECIFIC ROLES WERE AS VARIED AS THE NUMBER PATTERNS WE WORE, BUT WE ALL WORKED TOGETHER TO ENSURE THAT EVERYTHING STELLA WANTED TO BE DONE GOT DONE, EACH A CHAIN IN THE SEQUENCE. A WEEK BEFORE THE END OF IT ALL, IRIS, A CHEMIST IN HER FIRST YEAR OF EMPLOYMENT, STOPPED ME IN THE SHARED KITCHEN AMONGST THE LIVING QUARTERS WHERE WE KEPT OUR ALCOHOLIC FIZZY WATER AND BOTTLES OF SOYLENT, SEPARATE FROM THE INSTITUTIONAL VERSION DESIGNED TO SERVE OUR MEALS DOWNSTAIRS.

I WAS MINDING MY OWN BUSINESS WAITING FOR THE ELECTRIC KETTLE TO BOIL WHEN SHE EXPLAINED TO ME, “YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. IF SHE DOES THIS, IT’S GOING TO DESTROY EVERYTHING ON THIS SIDE OF THE DIVIDE.” SHE STRETCHED OUT THE WORDS, SPEAKING EXTRA LOUD AND SLOW BECAUSE SHE KNEW I GRADUATED WITH A B.A. IN GENERAL STUDIES. STEAM BILLOWED OUT OF MY CUP AS I POURED THE HOT WATER OVER MY BAG OF CHAMOMILE. “I THINK THAT’S CONJECTURE.” “LOOK, IF YOU DIDN’T WANT SMART PEOPLE TO TELL YOU WHEN YOU’RE BEING STUPID, WHY’D YOU RECRUIT US?” SHE CLEARLY THOUGHT THIS WAS SOME KIND OF CHECKMATE BUT I JUST OFFERED HER A SHRUG BEFORE TURNING AND LEAVING. HER EYES ON MY BACK, I REALIZED I’D LEFT THE CUP OF TEA ON THE COUNTER, BUT THERE WAS NOTHING I COULD DO ABOUT THAT NOW. THE UNIVERSE HAD SPOKEN. WHEN I RETURNED TO OUR QUARTERS, STELLA CONSOLED ME FOR MY LOSS OF BEVERAGE, LEADING ME BY MY HAND TO THE CONVERSATION PIT WHERE THE OTHERS SAT WAITING. “THAT IRIS IS SUCH A DOWNER,” “SUCH A DOWNER,” SAID ALL ELEVEN OF THE WOMEN WAITING FOR US, IN UNISON. I DISROBED BEFORE SLINKING INTO MY SPOT IN THE SEQUENCE, RELAXING INTO THE DEEP PURPLE COUCH, ITS SMOOTH FABRIC AGAINST MY BACK FEELING LIKE HOME. STELLA STOOD IN THE CENTER IN ALL HER GLORY. THE LIGHTS WERE DESIGNED TO MAKE HER GLOW, BUT REALLY THEY JUST PLAYED UP HER NATURAL SHINE. TRUTHFULLY, I NEVER REALLY BELIEVED STELLA WAS AN EXTRATERRESTRIAL, BUT I COULDN’T PROVE THAT SHE WAS WRONG AND I HAD NO INTEREST IN GOING AGAINST HER. SHE WAS OUR SUN, AND I WAS HER FIRST PLANET. WRONG OR RIGHT, STELLA WAS DESTINED FOR GLORY AND I WAS GOING TO HOLD ON TO HER ROCKET SHIP FOR AS LONG AS I COULD.

LOOSE TEETH TW: BODY GORE

MY DENTIST ASKS ME IF I’M STRESSED AND EXPLAINS HOW ANXIETY CAN SHOW UP ON THE TEETH. I DON’T JUST GRIND, NO, I PUSH MY TEETH AGAINST EACH OTHER, I PUSH MY TEETH RIGHT OUT OF MY MOUTH. SO I GET A MOUTH GUARD. FIRST OVER THE COUNTER, ONE I HAVE TO BOIL TO MOLD TO MY MOUTH, THEN A PRESCRIPTION ONE MY INSURANCE DOESN’T COVER. STILL MY FRONT TEETH LOOSEN, RUBBER-BAND GUMS STRETCHED. I MIGHT NEED A GUM GRAFT SURGERY; THIS IS GETTING SERIOUS. INSURANCE DOESN’T COVER THAT EITHER AND A GOOGLE OF PRICES TELLS ME NEITHER CAN I. THE DENTIST DOESN’T KNOW IF I’LL BE ABLE TO KEEP MY TEETH WITHOUT, AND SO HE SUGGESTS IMPLANTS, BUT THOSE COST EVEN MORE. LATER, I DON’T FLOSS OR BRUSH BEFORE BED, AND I LEAVE THE USELESS GUARDS ASLEEP ON MY BEDSIDE TABLE. I TAP MY TEETH TOGETHER. MAYBE DEATH WOULD BE BETTER THAN MISSING FRONT TEETH. SLEEP DOESN’T COME AND A TICKLE IN MY MOUTH GROWS INTOLERABLE. SO I SCRATCH THE TOP OF MY PALATE WITH MY TONGUE. IS IT A CANKER SORE? A HIVE? IT ALMOST FEELS LIKE LITTLE SCURRYING FEET, INSECTS CRAWLING UP MY GULLET. I RUSH TO THE BATHROOM SINK AND RUN WATER IN MY MOUTH, THEN SWISH ALL AROUND, ALL OVER MY TONGUE, INSIDE MY CHEEKS. WHEN IT FEELS LIKE ENOUGH, I SPIT AND LITTLE SPOTS SWIRL DOWN THE DRAIN. ONE LIFTS UP WITH MY FINGERTIP, AND I HOLD IT CLOSE TO MY FACE. IT WAVES ITS LITTLE LIMBS AND TWITCHES ITS DROOPY WINGS. IT’S NOT A BUG, BUT IT IS ALIVE. AT THE END OF HUMANOID ARMS ARE A HAMMER AND SAW, RESPECTIVELY. WITH A VOICE HIGH AND CHIRPY, IT SAYS, “WE WERE ALMOST DONE!” SO I TURN ON THE FAUCET AND WASH IT AWAY. ONE LAST RINSE SENDS ONE OF MY TEETH TO THE PORCELAIN, WHERE IT BOUNCES AROUND LIKE A PLASTIC BEAD.

WHO’S YOUR DADDY? TW: SEXUAL ASSAULT

GRANDMA CAME HOME RICHER THAT NIGHT WITH RAINBOW BINGO DAUBER SPECKLED ARMS FROM WRIST TO ELBOW, PURPLE AND GREEN AND RED AND BLUE SMUDGES. WHEN WE CAME INTO UNEXPECTED MONEY, WE ALWAYS WENT TO BROWN COW, THE BARBECUE AND STEAK PLACE BY THE UNIVERSITY, TO CELEBRATE. BOTH OF MY GRANDPARENTS LET CIGARETTES BURN IN THE COW-SHAPED ASHTRAY ON THE TABLE AND I COUGHED WHEN ORDERING MY FOOD, HUNGARIAN CABBAGE ROLLS WHICH I WOULD PICK THE RICE AND MEAT OUT OF, LEAVING THE CABBAGE LEAVES. GRANDMA LET ME GET AWAY WITH IT IF I HAD A SIDE SALAD. MOM ALWAYS SAID THEY SPOILED ME, BUT SHE HAD NO SAY ABOUT THAT NOW. MY MOTHER USED TO WORK HERE AS A SMILING, COIFFED WAITRESS, A FACT I KNEW THROUGH STORIES AND CANDID POLAROIDS FROM THE LIFE SHE HAD BEFORE, WHICH MEANT SHE LINGERED OVER THE WHOLE PLACE FOR ME. BUT IT WAS THEIR FAVORITE. SO: THERE I WAS, NEARING ADULTHOOD, HAVING A LATE DINNER IN A DARK RESTAURANT FULL OF CIGARETTE SMOKE AND SMOKED MEATS, MY MISSING MOTHER HEAVY ON MY MIND AS I CHASED PAPRIKA-SPIKED TOMATO SAUCE AROUND MY PLATE WITH A SPEARED CHUNK OF MEAT. GRANDPA SAID, “I GUESS WE SHOULD TELL YOU OUR BIG NEWS, HUH, KIDDO?” I’D JUST POPPED THE BITE INTO MY MOUTH WHEN GRANDMA SAID, “WE WERE GOING TO WAIT FOR YOUR SIXTEENTH BIRTHDAY, BUT WHAT THE HECK.” GRANDPA’S EYES WERE ALIGHT, FULL OF SPARKLE AND CHEER. AS I CHEWED, HE SAID, “WE’VE FOUND YOUR FATHER.” MY MOUTH WENT DRY AS I SWALLOWED MY LOAD, AND IT MOVED THROUGH MY TUBES SLOWLY, A NEAR-CHOKING NEAR-SOLID MASS. I KNEW THE STORY, BUT I THOUGHT THEY DIDN’T.

IT WENT: MOM’S COWORKER, A LINE COOK, TOOK HER BACK TO HIS PLACE AND RAPED HER AT GUNPOINT. SHE GOT THE GUN, THOUGH, AND SO SHE TRIED TO SHOOT HIM, BUT SHE’D NEVER EVEN TOUCHED A GUN BEFORE, SO SHE DIDN’T UNDERSTAND THE SAFETY AND SHE CRAWLED AWAY ACROSS THE CARPET, BUT HE GRABBED HER LEG AND HE SUNK HIS TEETH INTO THE FLESH OF HER CALF. HE WOULD HAVE KILLED HER THEN, SHE TOLD ME, IF HIS BROTHER HADN’T HEARD SCREAMING AND COME IN TO RESCUE HER. SHE SHOWED ME THE HALF-MOON BITE MARK ON THE BACK OF HER LEG EVERY TIME SHE TOLD ME THE STORY. THE HEROIC BROTHER, WELL, THAT WAS MY FATHER. PROBABLY. WHEN SHE WAS DRUNK, SHE TOLD ME I LOOKED LIKE MY UNCLE, THOUGH, AND SHE SAID SHE COULD SEE THE SNAKES WRITHING BEHIND MY EYES. I’D NEVER MET MY SUPPOSED FATHER NOR MY RAPIST UNCLE, AND WHEN ASKED, MOM WOULD SHRUG AND TELL ME THEY WERE BOTH DEAD, NOW, SO THERE WAS NO POINT TELLING ME THEIR NAMES. GRANDMA AND GRANDPA CONTINUED, EXPLAINING THAT THEY’D DISCOVERED MY MOTHER HAD ACTUALLY BEEN ABDUCTED SHORTLY BEFORE SHE FELL PREGNANT. “I KNOW,” I SAID, SURPRISED THAT THEY WERE CHOOSING TO BRING UP SUCH A TRAUMATIC TOPIC AT DINNER. “SHE TOLD YOU ABOUT THE ALIENS?” GRANDPA ASKED, HIS BUSHY EYEBROWS REACHING FOR HIS STILL-HEALTHY HAIRLINE. IGNORING WHAT I TOOK TO BE A XENOPHOBIC COMMENT, I SAID, “I KNEW WHAT HE DID TO HER, THE... RAPE.” THE WORD BLINKED IN ANGRY RED NEON, THE TRUTH ESCAPED OUT OF MY MOUTH. I YEARNED TO REWIND WHEN MY GRANDMA FROWNED AND SHOOK HER HEAD. “YOUR MOTHER WAS NEVER RAPED,” GRANDMA’S VOICE FLATTENED INTO A PLAIN OF EXASPERATION. “YES, SHE WAS.” I BARELY HEARD MYSELF.

GRANDPA WAVED HIS HAND IN DISMISSAL. “DON’T WORRY ABOUT EARTHLY CONCERNS. WE HAVEN’T EVEN TOLD YOU THE BEST PART.” “YOU’RE A PRINCESS ON YOUR FATHER’S HOME WORLD,” GRANDMA SAID. THERE WAS REVERENCE IN HER VOICE. I HAD SO MANY QUESTIONS, BUT MY MOUTH WAS TOO STICKY AND DRY TO ASK THEM. I GRABBED MY GLASS OF WATER, DRIPPY WITH CONDENSATION, AND SLURPED THROUGH THE STRAW UNTIL IT MADE SUCKING NOISES AT THE BOTTOM OF THE CUP AND GRANDPA CHASTISED ME. “I KNOW THIS IS A SHOCK TO YOU, KIDDO, BUT DO YOU HAVE TO EMBARRASS US?” I THINK I DID. MY MOTHER HAD DISAPPEARED A COUPLE YEARS BEFORE, LEAVING ME TO BE RAISED BY MY GRANDPARENTS, AS WAS THE CUSTOM IN OUR NEIGHBORHOOD. BUT, MY GRANDMOTHER TOLD ME, IT WASN’T THAT SHE’D RELAPSED, NOT AT ALL. SHE’D JUST GONE BACK TO VISIT THEM, THE ALIENS, INCLUDING MY FATHER AND AN EXTRATERRESTRIAL HALF-SISTER OF MINE. THERE CAME A TIME IN EVERY TEENAGER’S LIFE WHEN THEY HAD TO DECIDE WHETHER THEY WERE MORE MULDER OR SCULLY, AND THIS WAS MINE. THE CABBAGE ON MY PLATE LOOKED EXTRA-GREEN AND VEINY AND I STABBED IT WITH MY FORK. “HOW DO YOU KNOW?” I ASKED, WITHOUT LOOKING EITHER ONE OF THEM IN THE EYE. MY GRANDPARENTS HAD FALLEN IN WITH A STRANGE CROWD LATELY. THEY WERE MOSTLY OLDER PEOPLE WHO MET AT A COMMUNITY CENTER DOWNTOWN, “FOR PHILANTHROPY” MY GRANDPARENTS HAD SAID, WHICH I HAD THOUGHT WAS KIND OF WEIRD BECAUSE WHAT BUSINESS DID WE HAVE GIVING MONEY TO THE NEEDY WHEN IT OFTEN FELT LIKE WE WERE THE NEEDY? IT WASN’T CHARITY, THOUGH, GRANDPA EXPLAINED AT DINNER, BUT ACTUALLY AN ORGANIZATION FOR ENLIGHTENED PEOPLE. “NOW YOU KNOW WE’RE NOT RELIGIOUS, KIDDO, BUT AN OPEN MIND IS A PRIORITY FOR ME, SO IF THEY HAD WISDOM TO SHARE, I WANTED TO HEAR IT.” “IT’S NOT A CHURCH,” GRANDMA ADDED, ANTICIPATING MY QUESTION. “NOTHING SILLY LIKE THAT. A GATHERING OF FRIENDS.”

“WHAT’S THIS HAVE TO DO WITH MOM?” I GAVE UP EATING AND LET MY FORK FALL TO THE PLATE, THE TING PUNCTUATING MY SENTENCE. “THEY HAD A RECENT PHOTO, TRANSMITTED FROM UP THERE.” GRANDPA FLICKED HIS EYES TO THE CEILING, LIKE THE UFO WAS HOVERING RIGHT ABOVE THE RESTAURANT. A CHILL SETTLED OVER ME. “CAN I SEE IT?” GRANDMA DUG HER NOKIA OUT OF HER PURSE AND SEARCHED THROUGH HER PICTURES, STRAYING FROM THE TASK AT HAND EVERY TIME SHE SAW SOMETHING SHE MISJUDGED AS INTERESTING TO ME, LIKE A SQUIRREL SHE’D SEEN OUTSIDE THE WINDOW WHILE SHE WAS WASHING DISHES LAST THURSDAY, BUT FINALLY, SHE PRESENTED IT. THE WOMAN ON THE TINY SCREEN COULD HAVE BEEN MY MOTHER, IF YOU SQUINTED MAYBE, IF YOUR EYES WERE FUZZY WITH AGE, IF YOU DESPERATELY WANTED IT TO BE TRUE. SAME RICH BROWN COLOR AND OUTDATED CUT FOR HER HAIR, ROUGHLY THE SAME BUILD, WEARING ALL BLACK JUST LIKE MOM. EVERYTHING ELSE, THOUGH, WAS VERY MUCH NOT MY MOTHER—THE NOSE TOO SMALL, TOO UPTURNED; THE MOUTH WIDER; CHEEKBONES A LITTLE HIGHER; FACE OVERALL MORE ANGULAR. I ALSO DIDN’T RECOGNIZE THE DEELEY BOBBER TIARA. “AND MY FATHER?” THEY DIDN’T HAVE A PICTURE OF HIM, BUT THERE HAD BEEN A LETTER WRITTEN IN WAVY SYMBOLS WHICH HAD BEEN TRANSLATED FOR THEM ON THE SPOT, EXPLAINING EVERYTHING. THEY DIDN’T HAVE IT, THOUGH, ONLY THE MEMORY. “BECAUSE OF SECURITY CONCERNS,” GRANDPA WHISPERED. WE LEFT AFTER GRANDMA DROPPED A TWENTY ON THE TABLE FOR A TIP LIKE A HIGH ROLLER, AND WHEN WE GOT HOME, I LINGERED IN THE BACKYARD. YOU COULDN’T REALLY SEE THE STARS IN THE CITY, BUT I TRIED ANYWAY.

FOX FLAVOUR, HUNGARIAN CITIZEN, LIVE MEAT TW: NSFW

END ON A LOW NOTE

“PAIN OR LOVE OR DANGER MAKES YOU REAL AGAIN….”

- JACK KEROUAC, THE DHARMA BUMS STAG ITCHED AT HIS CROOKED, UNSHAVEN FACE. HE’D LOST A TOOTH SINCE THE LAST TIME SAM LAID EYES ON HIM. LIVING IN A VAN DOESN’T COME WITH ROSY, #VANLIFE VIBES IN THIS CITY. HIS DRUG- ADDLED COWORKER DIDN’T OWN A MODERN CELL PHONE. SAID THE GOVERNMENT WATCHED HIM TOO CLOSELY FOR HIM TO TINKER WITH SOCIAL MEDIA BULLSHIT. “DUDE, WHY NOT SHELLEY?” HE ASKED. “WHY’S IT GOTTA BE KEROUAC THAT’S YOUR FAVORITE?” SAM SCANNED JERROLD AVENUE THROUGH THE CHAIN LINK FENCE WITH HIS HANDS STUFFED IN HIS WAIST COAT POCKET. ONE HAND ON HIS CELL IN CASE HIS KID CHECKED IN. THE OTHER GRIPPED THE WEIGHTED END OF A POLICE ISSUE SAP. HE WORE A COFFEECOLORED WAIST COAT OVER HIS GRAY FLANNEL SHIRT AND A HEAVY PAIR OF FOREST GREEN CORDUROYS. KEPT THE CHILL OUT. WITH LUCK THE KID WAS FAST ASLEEP. EVEN BETTER LUCK WOULD BE NOT HAVING TO PULL OUT THE BASHER. IT WAS PAST MIDNIGHT. FOG FILLED IN THE GAPS NOT VISIBLE BY THE BUILDING’S MOTH-HAPPY FLOODLIGHTS. COUPLE FOLKS FOUGHT WITH SHOPPING CARTS, LIGHTS VISIBLE IN A FEW TENTS FROM THE NEARBY HOMELESS ENCAMPMENT, BUT NO THREATS. JUST LIKE LAST NIGHT. AND THE NIGHT BEFORE. “LET ME GUESS. READING FRANKENSTEIN?” SAM ASKED. SAPS, LIKE BLACKJACKS, DELIVERED A HELL OF A BLOW WHEN SWUNG. SAM LIKED TO KEEP ONE HANDY ON GUARD JOBS. FOR WHATEVER REASON, THE CLIENT DIDN’T WANT REAL SECURITY, DIDN’T WANT ANYTHING ON THE BOOKS BY THE LOOKS OF IT. SAM DIDN’T BOTHER TO CHECK ON WHO’D RENTED THE SMALL WHITE BUILDING ON JERROLD AND NAPOLEON, BUT HE FIGURED THE NAME WOULDN’T SCROLL UP ON A GOOGLE SEARCH. STAG BOOKED THE GIG, VOLUNTEERED SAM BEFORE HE’D EVEN ASKED, AND SAM HADN’T MET THE CLIENT. BESIDES STAYING UP ALL NIGHT, JOB HAD BEEN NOTHING BUT COFFEE AND CHIT CHAT. JUST HANG OUT BY THE GIANT ROLL UP DOOR AND STAY ON TASK. A GRAND EVERY SUNRISE. ONE FOR SAM AND ONE FOR STAG. USUALLY STUCK AN ENVELOPE THROUGH A MAIL SLOT IN THE MORNING.

SOMETHING THUMPED AGAINST THE WALL INSIDE THE WAREHOUSE. THEY HEARD A DISTANT MOAN, MASCULINE, HORRIFIC. STAG KEPT SCRATCHING BUT TURNED HIS HEAD TO THE UPPER-LEVEL WINDOWS. “FRANKENSTEIN SHIT GOING ON IN THERE. I’M TELLING YOU.” THOUGH MOSTLY COVERED WITH PAPER, A DULL GREEN LIGHT THROBBED WITHIN. “NOT OUR BUSINESS.” SAM SCANNED THE DARK ROAD. GRAFFITI ALL OVER. PLUMP, PURPLE LETTERS BLASTED ON THE STREET-FACING SIDE OF THE WAREHOUSE. TRIBAL TAGS ON EVERY POWER POLE. “WANT TO END ON A HIGH NOTE AND SHIT. NOT DEAD.” STAG WORE HIS BLACK DENIM COAT. SMELLED LIKE BEER AND VOMIT, BOTH OF WHICH MIGHT HAVE BEEN IN HIS HAIR. WHAT MAY HAVE BEEN BLONDE LOCKS THESE DAYS LOOKED LIKE BROWN CRAYON SCRIBBLES. SAM WONDERED HOW THE MAN COULD SEE. “STILL PLANNING TO GO BACK TO YOUR HOMETOWN? TALKED ABOUT THAT BEFORE.” “MOM’S WORSE,” HE ANSWERED. “REALLY, BRO. WHY KEROUAC? YOU DO KIND OF LOOK LIKE HIM.” SAM DIDN’T HAVE FRIENDS IN THE BUSINESS, BUT STAG CAME CLOSE. HE’D GOTTEN HIM INTO THE THUG GRIND YEARS BACK. DIDN’T TAKE IT ON FULL FORCE UNTIL YEARS LATER, BUT IT SURE BEAT PANHANDLING ON THE STREET CORNER. SHIT WASN’T EASY. NEVER WENT RIGHT. PLUMP, JUICY CASH HAD HIM BY THE NUTS. “JACK WAS SAN FRANCISCO THROUGH AND THROUGH.” SAM WENT BACK TO THE ROLL-UP WITHIN THE CONFINES OF THE YARD. MOTHS FLUTTERED AROUND HIM. “AND WHY SHELLEY? SHOULD BE READING STEVENSON. JEKYLL AND HYDE.” “NAW, HE AIN’T DRINKING POTIONS IN THERE. HE’S MAKING ZOMBIES. SURE OF IT.” “HERE TO KEEP SHIT SECURE. THAT’S IT.” “REMEMBER WHAT I TOLD YOU. IN OR OUT. SAID WE’RE TO KEEP SHIT FROM GETTING IN AND FROM GETTING OUT.”

SAM WISHED HIS CELL WOULD VIBRATE. ANYTHING TO CHANGE THE SUBJECT. STAG KEPT ITCHING AT HIS FACE. “HIGH RIGHT NOW, AREN’T YOU? METH OR FENTANYL?” STAG SHRUGGED. “COPING IS A THING. HOW I DO IT IS MY CONCERN. TOLD YOU I WANT TO END ON A HIGH NOTE.” SOMETHING POUNDED AGAINST THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ROLL-UP DOOR WITH THE FORCE OF A SLEDGEHAMMER. LOUD ENOUGH TO WAKE THE BLOCK. “HELL IS HE UP TO?” STAG’S VOICE TOOK A HIGHER PITCH. “DUDE, TOLD YOU. TOLD YOU!” THE ASSAULT CONTINUED. SAM PUT HIS FACE NEAR THE CORRUGATED METAL. LIKE SHOTGUN BLASTS ECHOING IN THE NIGHT. IF THE RACKET KEPT UP, THE POLICE WOULDN’T BE FAR OFF. A SOLITARY WINDOW NEAR THE ENTRANCE SHOOK, NOTHING VISIBLE BUT BLINDS ON THE INSIDE. GLASS STAYED IN ONE PIECE. “KEEP IT DOWN IN THERE!” STAG YELLED AT THE DOOR. “AIN’T GETTING OUT. WON’T LET YOU! NOTHING GETS IN OR OUT!” HE TURNED TO SAM. “THAT RIGHT?” GENTLY, SAM RESTED HIS HAND AGAINST THE DOOR. A SECOND LATER THE METAL POPPED WITH ANOTHER STRIKE FOLLOWED BY THE KIND OF SILENCE ONE HEARS IN A GRAVEYARD. STAG CAME UP BEHIND HIM. HIS VOICE CRACKED WHEN HE SPOKE. “DID HE STOP? MAYBE HE PASSED…” THEY HEARD A MAN’S VOICE FROM THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR, HIS WORDS RASPY AND HOLLOW. “FELLAS. HEY, FELLAS. LET ME OUT OF HERE, HUH? PLEASE? PRETTY PLEASE?” “THAT YOUR BOY?” SAM ASKED STAG. STAG’S WORDS BLED OUT IN A WHISPER. “DAMN, I DON’T KNOW. IT COULD BE. DUDE, HARD TO TELL. THIS IS FREAKING ME RIGHT THE HELL OUT.”

THE VOICE WENT INSANE. “LET ME OUT OR YOU BOTH DIE! I’LL EAT YOUR LUNGS! I’LL EAT YOUR INTESTINES! I’LL TAKE A STEAMING DUMP ON YOUR ENTRAILS!” STAG SHOOK HIS HEAD. “JESUS. LISTEN TO HIM.” THE WINDOW BY SAM SHATTERED. A BLUISH ARM APPEARED. COLD FINGERS SNARED HIS THROAT. THEY COULD SEE GLASS SHARDS EMBEDDED IN THE TEAL FLESH. SAM PULLED OUT THE SAP, STRUGGLING TO KEEP HIS ATTACKER FROM PULLING HIM AGAINST THE BUSTED WINDOW. WHOEVER OWNED THE ARM HAD FEET OF STITCHES IN THEIR FUTURE. RIVERS OF BLOOD OOZED FROM THE BARE, BLUE SKIN. FELT LIKE AN IRON CLAMP ON HIS ESOPHAGUS. “MOTHER OF…!” STAG SCREAMED. INSTEAD OF HELPING, HE STUMBLED BACKWARD. “LIVING HELL! JESUS! HAD IT WITH THIS NOISE!” SAM GOT IN A SOLID SWING DESPITE THE AWKWARD ANGLE. NOT AS MUCH MOMENTUM AS HE WOULD HAVE LIKED, BUT ENOUGH TO MAKE A SNAP. THE HAND SLACKENED, DIDN’T LET GO. IT WAS ENOUGH FOR SAM TO YANK FREE. THE FINGERS CONTINUED TO REACH FOR HIM AND THIS TIME HE GOT IN A HUMMER. WHACKED THE KNUCKLES. BONES CRACKED AND THE HAND RETREATED. SAM SPOKE OVER HIS SHOULDER. “STAG, FIND A BOARD OR SOMETHING TO BLOCK OFF THAT WINDOW. CAN’T LET THAT OUT.” NO REPLY. “STAG?” SAM TURNED AND SURVEYED THE YARD. HIS FRIEND HAD BAILED. THE CHAIN LINK FENCE WAS OPEN, THE LOCK HUNG FROM THE POLE, AND SAM WAS ALONE. “COME ON, FELLAS.” THIS TIME THE ARM’S OWNER SPOKE NEAR THE SHATTERED WINDOW. SOUNDED LIKE HE WERE STANDING RIGHT NEXT TO SAM. “WHERE’S THE DAG-BLASTED KEYS TO GET OUT?” GOOD QUESTION. MAYBE STAG HAD THEM? HAD THE CLIENT HIDDEN THEM? SAM HAD NO CLUE.

THE BLOOD-DRENCHED ARM RETURNED, AND SAM SWUNG THE SAP. IT HASTENED BACK TO THE DARKNESS INSIDE THE WAREHOUSE. HE HEARD SCAMPERING FOOTSTEPS AND A SLEW OF MUFFLED OBSCENITIES. SAM COULDN’T HEAR THEM ALL, BUT HE MADE OUT “INTESTINES” AND “LIVER.” AN ENGINE ROARED. BEHIND HIM, A DIRTY VAN SPED PAST. STAG’S RIDE. SAM WHISPERED. “SAFE TRAVELS, ASSHOLE.” THE NIGHT HELD ITS BREATH. SAM GAVE THE JAGGED WINDOW A BIT OF BREATHING ROOM, WIPED SWEAT FROM HIS BROW, AND REMOVED HIS WAIST COAT. LET IT DROP AT THE BASE OF THE BUILDING. THE VAN’S ENGINE FADED TO NOTHING. THE FEELING OF THOSE FINGERS, THE DAMN ICINESS, STAYED ON HIS NECK. SWEAT COVERED THE REST OF HIM. SUNRISE COULDN’T BE TOO FAR OFF. HE COULD HEAR SOMETHING BANG INSIDE THE WAREHOUSE AND KEPT HIS EYES ON THE BROKEN GLASS. NO WAY HIS ATTACKER COULD CLIMB TO THOSE UPPER-LEVEL WINDOWS, NOT UNLESS THAT WEIRD SKIN CAME WITH SUCTION CUPS. A CRUNCHING SOUND BEHIND HIM. SAM TURNED TO THE OPEN GATE, REALIZING HE NEGLECTED TO CLOSE IT. HOPING TO LAY EYES ON STAG OR EVEN A COP, OR EVEN A BUM FROM ONE OF THE TENTS, SAM HAD TO BLINK TO BE SURE HE WASN’T HALLUCINATING. SIX OF THEM. ALL DRESSED IN RED ROBES WITH HOODS. BLACK SASHES TIED AT THEIR WAIST. THE HOODS SWALLOWED THEIR FACES. SAM STARED INTO THE INK BLOTS WHERE THEIR EYES WOULD BE, HOPING TO CATCH A GLIMPSE, BUT THE NIGHT PREVENTED IT. THEY DRIFTED SILENTLY INTO THE SECURE AREA. ARMS AT THEIR SIDES AND DEATHLY SILENT. SAM HELD THE BASHER AT THE READY AND REMEMBERED TO KEEP HIS ASS AWAY FROM THE SMASHED WINDOW. WOULDN’T DO TO GET SNARED BY THE BLUE ARM AGAIN. NOT WITH THESE FREAKS AROUND. “PRIVATE PROPERTY,” HE SAID, REGRETTING HIS WORDS AS SOON AS THEY CAME OUT. WHAT DID THIS GROUP CARE FOR RULES? NOTHING LIKE SAYING SOMETHING STUPID TO SET THE MOOD. THEY APPROACHED. FORMED A HALF CIRCLE AROUND HIM. SAM STEPPED AWAY FROM THE WINDOW AND FACED HIS BACK TO THE ROLL-UP DOOR. SIX OF THEM AND NO ONE SAID A THING.

THE EERIE VOICE RETURNED TO THE WINDOW. “HEY, FELLAS. ANY OF YOU GOT A KEY? TAKE THIS DOUCHE OUT AND YOU CAN HAVE AT ME. A RIGHT PROPER SQUARE DANCE WE CAN HAVE.” STAG MADE THE BEST CALL. LEFT WHEN THE GETTING WAS GOOD. “LET ME THROUGH AND YOU FOLKS CAN HAVE AT IT. PAST MY BEDTIME,” SAM SAID. THE VOICE SNICKERED. “BUDDY BOO. NO WAY. IT’S TOO LATE FOR THAT. AM I RIGHT, FELLAS?” SAM STARED AT THE HOODS. NO WAY TO MAKE EYE CONTACT. NO WAY TO KNOW WHICH ONE WAS IN CHARGE. CELL IN HIS POCKET BUZZED. HIS DAUGHTER NEVER HAD THE BEST TIMING. PROBABLY REMINDING HIM TO BRING HOME DONUTS. HE’D BEEN DOING JUST THAT THE LAST TWO MORNINGS. PARTLY OUT OF GUILT FOR NOT BEING HOME AT NIGHT AND PARTLY BECAUSE HE REFUSED TO READ “TWILIGHT” WITH HER. HAD TO BE BETTER, NEWER, YOUNG ADULT BOOKS OUT THERE, HE TOLD HER. THEY TIGHTENED THE CIRCLE. SAM HADN’T SEEN A WEAPON, NOT EVEN THEIR HANDS, BUT NO WAY HE COULD MANAGE SIX AT ONCE. HE SET HIS FEET APART AND SWUNG THE SAP IN A SWEEPING ARC. MARKING AN INVISIBLE LINE HE HOPED THEY WOULDN’T CROSS. “KILL THIS ASS, FELLAS. KILL HIM AND YOU CAN KILL ME.” THE VOICE GROWLED. THE TWO AT EITHER END MOVED IN FIRST, GIVING NO THOUGHT TO THE WEAPON IN SAM’S HAND. HE HEARD THE RUSTLE OF FABRIC AND NOT A SINGLE DEEP BREATH. SAM CHARGED THE MAN ON HIS LEFT, PUTTING DISTANCE BETWEEN THE OTHERS, AND TACKLED HIM. HE LANDED ON TOP AND SLAMMED THE SAP AGAINST THE SIDE OF THE RED HOOD. STILL NO SOUND. NOT EVEN A FUCKING GRUNT. BEFORE HE COULD GET A PEEK UNDER THE COVERINGS, A BLOW STRUCK HIS SIDE AND KNOCKED HIM OVER. THE SECOND HOOD JUMPED ON TOP OF HIM. SAM LIFTED HIS KNEE. SMASHED THE GROIN. THE ROBED STRANGER FELL LIMPLY ATOP HIM, GIVING SAM ENOUGH TIME TO CRAB WALK OUT FROM UNDER BEFORE GETTING CAUGHT AGAIN.

HE SPRANG TO HIS FEET, HOPING FOR ANOTHER FACE OFF. ANYTHING TO KILL TIME. THE VOICE BEHIND THE WINDOW KEPT TALKING. SAM MADE OUT SNIPPETS. MORE BULLSHIT ABOUT INTESTINES. HAD A THING FOR THOSE. ONE OF THE ROBED CHARACTERS CHARGED HIM LIKE A LINEBACKER AND THEY WENT DOWN. HIT HIS ELBOW HARD ON THE ASPHALT. LOST THE SAP TO THE SHADOWS. FUNNY BONE THROBBED, MAKING HIS TEETH GRIND. HE TRIED TO ROLL ON HIS SIDE, TOWARD THE SAP, BUT WAS PINNED DOWN. COULDN’T MOVE AN INCH. THE RED ROBES SWARMED AROUND HIM. ALL BUT THE ONE SITTING ON HIM WERE BACK ON THEIR FEET. THE PHONE IN HIS POCKET BUZZED AGAIN. KID SURE WANTED THOSE DONUTS. “STICK FINGERS IN HIS EYES FOR ME, PLEASE?” CAME THE SICKLY-SWEET WINDOW VOICE. “SUCK THE MARROW FROM HIS…” THE ROAR OF AN ENGINE DROWNED OUT THE REST. ROBES AND CHAIN LINK FENCE SPUN THROUGH THE COURTYARD LIKE A TORNADO, BLOWN ASIDE BY THE INCOMING VAN. SAM FELT A JOLT TO HIS BODY AND BLACKNESS ENVELOPED HIM. SOMETHING FILLED HIS VISION. TOOK HIM A FEW BLINKS TO REALIZE HE WAS LOOKING AT THE UNDERCARRIAGE OF A VEHICLE. THE VAN SHUDDERED TO A HALT INCHES ABOVE HIS HEAD. THE RED ROBES WERE TOSSED LIKE RAG DOLLS BEYOND THE SPHERE OF THE SECURITY LIGHTS. LANDED IN PILES OF RED FABRIC. THE STINK OF OIL AND GASOLINE FILLED SAM’S NOSTRILS AND THE RUMBLING ENGINE RATTLED HIS BONES. WHEN IT SWITCHED OFF, ALL WENT QUIET. SAM FELT HOT BLOOD SPILL FROM HIS NOSE OVER HIS LIPS. HE’D BEEN WALLOPED AT SOME POINT. HANDS GRABBED HIS ARMS. “DUDE, WERE YOU UNDER THOSE GUYS? COULD HAVE RUN YOU OVER!” HUFFING AND YANKING, STAG GOT HIM BACK ON HIS LEGS. SAM WOBBLED, LEANED OVER WITH HIS HANDS ON HIS KNEES AND CAUGHT HIS BREATH. HE MOTIONED TO THE WAREHOUSE. “CHECK THE WINDOW.” “THINK ONE OF THE DUDES IN THE ROBES HIT IT. NOT SURE. HIT THEM HARD, MAN!”

SAM ASSESSED THE DAMAGE. RIPPED CORDUROYS, FLANNEL SHIRT SLEEVE TORN OFF, BLOODY NOSE AND A HELL OF A THROB IN HIS ELBOW. COULDN’T SHAKE THE TASTE OF GASOLINE IN HIS MOUTH. “DUDE, WHERE THEY AT?” STAG ASKED. THE RED ROBES HAD ALL GONE HOME. NEVER DID FIND OUT WHO THEY WERE AND HE DIDN’T CARE. NOT A SINGLE SCRAP OF RED MATERIAL REMAINED. SAM LIMPED OVER TO HIS SAP AND SCOOPED IT UP. THEY HADN’T BOTHERED TO TAKE IT. LIFE FELT BETTER NOW THAT HE HAD IT BACK. HE SURVEYED THE NIGHT AND SAW ONLY A FEW PEOPLE TWO BLOCKS AWAY STRUGGLING WITH THEIR SHOPPING CARTS. FREAKS WERE FAST. HE WENT BACK TO THE VAN. “GUESSING YOU WANTED YOUR CUT.” “WE’RE FRIENDS, MAN. I DIDN’T GET FAR CUZ I REALIZED I COULDN’T JUST FLAKE ON YOU.” STAG GRINNED THROUGH HIS MESSY HAIR. “INDIANA IS PRETTY FAR THOUGH. GAS AIN’T CHEAP.” SAM TILTED HIS HEAD AT THE TWISTED CHAIN LINK FENCE. “HELP ME GET THIS CLEANED UP.” “CHECK IT OUT. THE LIGHT IS BACK.” SAM FOLLOWED STAG’S GAZE TOWARD THE WAREHOUSE. SWAMPY, GREEN LIGHT BLAZED THROUGH THE BUSTED WINDOW. IT PULSED LIKE A BEACON. “NONE OF OUR BUSINESS,” SAM SAID. THE SUN BEGAN TO RISE, DULL AND YELLOW, AND OFFERED ZERO WARMTH. SAM COOLED OFF ENOUGH TO PUT HIS WAIST COAT BACK ON AND STUCK THE SAP IN THE POCKET. STAG TALKED OF INDIANA AND HIS SICK MOM. BOTH WATCHED JERROLD AVENUE WITH NERVOUS REGULARITY. NOT SO MUCH AS AN INCH OF RED ROBE. “WHAT DO YOU SUPPOSE THOSE DUDES WERE DOING HERE ANYWAY?” STAG CRACKED OPEN THE QUESTION. “LOOKED LIKE DEVIL WORSHIPPERS.” SAM MOTIONED TOWARD THE WAREHOUSE. THE GREEN LIGHT HAD VANISHED. “HIS BUSINESS, NOT OURS.”

“TELL YOU ONE THING. BE GLAD TO GET OUT OF THIS TOWN. SAN FRANCISCO CAN SUCK MY DI…” A RATTLING SOUND INTERRUPTED HIM. THE ROLL-UP DOOR SHIMMIED AND BEGAN TO OPEN. TO BE SAFE, SAM STEPPED BACK AND ARMED HIMSELF WITH THE SAP. A PAIR OF FEET APPEARED, AND A MAN IN A WHITE LAB COAT DUCKED UNDER THE DOOR BEFORE IT REACHED THE TOP. THEIR CLIENT WAS A SCRAWNY MAN WITH A HIPSTER BEARD STREAKED WITH GRAY, COKE BOTTLE GLASSES, AND A BALD HEAD. “THERE’S MY GUY,” STAG SAID. “GENTLEMAN! HOW DID THINGS…” HE SPOTTED THE VAN PARKED IN THE SECURE AREA, THE BROKEN CHAIN LINK, AND THE SMASHED WINDOW. THEY’D ALREADY PICKED UP THE BROKEN GLASS. “THE HELL?” “EARNED OUR KEEP,” SAM SAID. HE NOTICED HIKED SLEEVES ON THE SCIENTIST’S ARMS. SCARS COVERED HIS RIGHT FOREARM. COULDN’T BE FROM THE BUSTED WINDOW, SAM FIGURED, ONLY THE LOCATIONS DID LINE UP, BUT THE WOUNDS ON HIS ARM WERE PRACTICALLY HEALED. “WERE THEY IN ROBES?” “DUDE! DID YOU SEE THEM? THERE WERE A BUNCH OF THEM,” STAG SAID. “AFRAID THIS WILL BE THE LAST NIGHT I NEED YOUR SERVICES, GENTLEMEN. I’LL BE MOVING ON.” NO ONE ARGUED THAT. THE SCIENTIST REACHED INTO HIS LAB COAT AND DOLED OUT A STACK OF BILLS. HE SURVEYED THE DAMAGE AS STAG TOOK THE DRIVER’S SEAT. SAM CLIMBED IN ON THE PASSENGER SIDE. “THANKS AGAIN, FELLAS,” THE SCIENTIST CALLED OUT TO THEM. “FELLAS,” SAM MUMBLED. “HATE WHEN YOU CALL ME DUDE, STAG. AFTER TONIGHT, FELLAS IS WORSE.”

STAG STARTED THE ENGINE AND REVERSED ONTO JERROLD. SAM TOOK A MOMENT TO CHECK HIS PHONE BEFORE SLIPPING IT INTO HIS COAT. THEY DROVE TOWARD THE RISING SUN. SAM TOOK A DEEP BREATH. “’HAPPINESS CONSISTS IN REALIZING IT IS ALL A GREAT STRANGE DREAM,’” SAM QUOTED. “KEROUAC WROTE THAT. ASKED WHY I LIKE HIM. THERE YOU GO.” STAG CHEWED ON A BIT OF HIS HAIR, SCRATCHED HIS CHEEK, AND KEPT HIS EYES ON THE ROAD. “STILL DON’T GET IT.” “GUESS I DON’T EITHER. SWING BY HAPPY DONUT ON THE WAY TO TOWN, WOULD YOU? MY TREAT.”

CANDID CAMERA

THE PHOENIX MOTEL BRINGS INSTANT RELIEF FROM THE ARIZONA HEAT. IT’S AUGUST, THE TEMPERATURE’S ONE HUNDRED PLUS AND THE AIR CONDITIONER’S GOING FULL BLAST. I DUMP MY BAG ON THE RECLINER AND WIPE MY FACE WITH THE BACK OF MY HAND. LOOKS LIKE THE HOUSEKEEPER DID A BIT OF A RUSH JOB ON THE ROOM. IT’S NOT UNTIDY OR ANYTHING, BUT THE COMFORTER’S RUFFLED, THE CLOSET DOOR’S AJAR AND THE TV REMOTE’S UPSIDE-DOWN ON THE NIGHTSTAND. PICKING IT UP, I FLICK THROUGH THE CHANNELS AND SETTLE FOR CANDID CAMERA. THEN, I GRAB A SODA FROM THE MINI BAR AND CRASH ON THE BED. BOY AM I WHIPPED. SELLING ENCYCLOPAEDIAS WILL BE THE DEATH OF ME, GODDAMMIT. COULDN’T GIVE THEM AWAY TODAY. MUST BE THE WEATHER. WHO WANTS TO READ IN THIS HEAT? I THINK I SAW THIS CANDID CAMERA SKETCH BEFORE. IT’S THE ONE WHERE CUSTOMERS IN AN ANTIQUE STORE ARE PRESSURED INTO PAYING FOR MERCHANDISE THEY’VE BEEN ACCUSED OF BREAKING. PURE SLAPSTICK. I TRY TO GET INTO THE SHOW, BUT SOMETHING’S BUGGING ME. THE CLOSET DOOR. I DON’T HAVE OCD OR ANYTHING, BUT I GOT TO CLOSE IT. IN DOING SO, I SPOT SOMETHING IN THE HALF-LIGHT. A LEATHER BRIEFCASE. THE PREVIOUS CUSTOMER MUST’VE LEFT IT BEHIND. CURIOUS, I HAUL IT ONTO THE BED, UNFASTEN THE CATCHES AND OPEN IT UP. THE CONTENTS LEAVE ME OPEN-MOUTHED. FLABBERGASTED. BUNDLES OF NEATLY STACKED HUNDRED-DOLLAR BILLS STARE AT ME. HUNDREDS AND THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS. “WELL, I’LL BE DAMNED!” WHERE THE DEVIL DID ALL THAT LOOT COME FROM? A BANK ROBBERY? A DRUGS DEAL? MY LINE OF ENQUIRY’S INTERRUPTED BY THE SCREECHING OF TYRES. I MUTE THE TV AND LISTEN. A CAR DOOR SLAMS, FOLLOWED BY FOOTSTEPS CLAMBERING UP THE STAIRS. MY HEART THUMPS AS THE KEY TURNS IN THE LOCK AND THE DOOR OPENS. A MAN WITH DARK GLASSES, BLACK SUIT AND TRILBY HAT STEPS INTO THE ROOM. HE HAS A CHEST LIKE A BULL “YOU TOOK YOUR TIME,” HE SAYS, BITING HIS FIST. I TRY TO SAY SOMETHING, BUT MY VOICE’S DRY IN MY THROAT. “DON’T WORRY, IT’S ALL THERE.” HE MOTIONS TOWARD THE CASE. I CAN’T BREATHE. I FEEL MY WHOLE BODY SHAKING..

“YOU DON’T SAY MUCH, DO YOU?” HE SMILES. “I GUESS THEY DON’T CALL YOU THE SILENT ASSASSIN FOR NOTHING.” I NOD IN AGREEMENT. “WELL, SO LONG.” HE PULLS HIS HAT OVER HIS FOREHEAD AND LEAVES. THROUGH THE BLINDS I WATCH HIS STATION WAGON GO OUT OF THE PARKING LOT AND TURN ONTO THE ROAD. I WAIT A FEW MINUTES FOR SOMETHING TO HAPPEN. AS IF IT WAS A PRACTICAL JOKE, HALF- EXPECTING PETER FUNT TO BURST INTO THE ROOM WITH THE CATCHPHRASE: “SMILE-YOU’RE ON CANDID CAMERA!” BUT THERE’S NOTHING. DOWN AT THE POOL TWO BOYS ARE MESSING AROUND IN THE WATER. ONE OF THEM DIVES OFF THE BOARD AND SWIMS TO THE OTHER SIDE. THEN, I HEAR A POLICE SIREN.

BUSTY OL’ SUSAN TW: NSFW. MURDER

BUSTY ‘OL SUSAN SMELLS LIKE SIN SHE AIN’T A LOOKER BUT SHE’LL LET EVERYONE IN THOUGHT SHE LOVED ME – BOY WAS I DUMB REALISED SHE’S FULL OF EVERYONE’S CUM SO, I CREEP UP ONE DAY ALL DRESSED IN BLACK TO HER MOMMA’S HOUSE. THERE IN THE BACK, BENEATH THE TREE I SAW THAT BITCH GIVING HER STD FLAPS A GOOD ‘OL ITCH I STAY HIDDEN AND STALKED HER HOUSE HER HUSBAND PULLED UP, I HATE HER SPOUSE THE AXE WAS READY IN MY RIGHT HAND JUMPED OUT THE BUSHES AND ATTACKED THE MAN STRUCK HIM RIGHT ON TOP OF HIS HEAD FELL TO HIS KNEES BUT HE WASN’T DEAD HE WAS TOO FAT SO HE COULDN’T STAND I SAY, “THAT’S WHY SUSAN COMES TO ME FOR LOVE!” THAT FAT-ASS BASTARD THEN CHOKED IN HIS BLOOD MADE SUCH A MESS, I SHOULD’VE WORN GLOVES I WENT TO HER DOOR TO PROCLAIM MY AFFECTION BLOOD SPLATTERS COVER ME IN EVERY DIRECTION THAT WHORE JUST SCREAMED AND RAN AWAY SHE CALLS THE COPS, THEY TOOK ME AWAY GOOD ‘OL SUSAN WHO STOLE MY HEART THE ONLY WOMAN WHO MAKES ME HARD

BLESS HER SOUL, SHE’LL LOVE ME BACK ALL I DID WAS GIVE HIM A WHACK HE COULDN’T PLEASE HER, LIKE I COULD, OR LIKE PAUL, OR BILL, OR JEFFEREY COULD. THE END

READ THE FINE PRINT TW: CANNIBALISM

WILLING TO PAY THE PRICE TO LEAVE HER OLD LIFE BEHIND AND RELISH WHILE SHE‘S STILL ALIVE SHE ASKED FOR A HANDSOME GUY HER WISH DELIVERED IN FULL ALONG CAME A HANDSOME FOOL A GORGEOUS BUT USELESS BUFFOON HE DROWNED IN THE SWIMMING POOL BACK TO THE LAMP SHE CONTROLS GIVE ME COPIOUS RICHES UNTOLD BUT WEALTH SHE’S TOO STUPID TO HOLD IN RECORD TIME, SHE’S STONE BROKE SHE FAILED TO LEARN THE GAME HER FINAL WISH WAS FOR FAME THE WHOLE WORLD TO KNOW HER NAME HER PLACE IN HISTORY TO CLAIM CHAINED IN A DARKENED ROOM THEN DISMEMBERED INTO A STEW HER MURDER ON PAY-PER-VIEW OTHER PEOPLE, MAKE WISHES TOO THE END

COLD CASE: WHISKEY EVERYONE TIPTOES THROUGH AND AROUND THE CRIME SCENE INVESTIGATING OFFICERS, MEDICAL EXAMINER, REPORTERS SCRATCH HEADS BEFUDDLED HOW THE ROOM IS INTACT WAS IT SUICIDE? NO EVIDENCE OF ANOTHER NEARBY SAVE THE WHISKEY, EVERYONE’S FAVOURITE TIPPLE STRANGER THINGS ON HEAVEN AND EARTH, THEY MUTTER EYEING THE VICTIMS REMAINS; A LEFT FOOT, A RIGHT ONE ALAS THE COLLECTED CINDER HEAPED ON BLUE CHAIR CANNOT SAY IF WHISKEY SLIDING SMOOTHLY DOWN THROAT BECAME A SELF-CONTAINED FURNACE SURGING FROM WITHIN HOW ELSE TO EXPLAIN THE HARM DONE ONLY TO ONE MEN ON DUTY REACH FOR THEIR CRUCIFIX, CROSSING THEMSELVES CAUTIOUSLY CHECK THE LABEL, COUNTING THEMSELVES LUCKY RECALLING THE MANY INSTANCES IMBIBING THIS FINE MULTI-LAYERED SPIRIT TO A MAN THEY AGREE BEST TAKE NO CHANCES AT LOCAL TONIGHT SWITCH TO A NEW POISON...JUST IN CASE THE END

(JADE LIKES TOBACCO) AGONY...ECSTASY, EVE/LILITH, BLAIRE TW: NSFW

DOUBLEMINT HAIBUN

I’VE GOT THIS WEIRD GUM ON MY FINGERS, AND EVERYTHING STICKS TO MY HANDS LIKE GRIEF. SOMETIMES IT’S SHADOWS AND SORROWS THAT STICK. SOMETIMES MY HANDS ARE GLUEY, GRAPPLING WITH SPACE. RIGHT NOW THERE’S A GNARL OF CHEWED GUM IN MY PALM, AND THE DARKNESS IS BLENDING LIKE FIRE AND SPARK. CELESTIAL LIGHT BLOOMS. ANGELS APPEAR AS THEY DO, I REACH FOR THEM, PRESSING MY HANDS TO THE SKY. THEY CLING TO ME, SURROUND ME IN SONG. GABRIEL AND RAPHAEL BARK, MY SKIN TWITCHES. URIEL SCREECHES. EVERYTHING ACHES, THE GUM GOES HARD, BROKEN WINGS LIE WITHIN. I SPIT. IT HITS THE GROUND LIKE A STONE, BOUNCES, AND ROLLS AWAY. RELEASE IS SOMETIMES AS EASY AS KICKING AN ANGEL TO THE CURB

GREASY GREASY FINGERS THE BUTTER WAS STILL A BIT COLD WHEN I DROPPED THE WHOLE STICK ON THE FLOOR. IT LANDED WITH A THWACK AND SPREAD ITSELF OUT IN A THICK, CHILLY EMULSION. THE OILY MASS WOULDN’T BE WIPED UP - IT ONLY CONGEALED AROUND MY FINGERS. I TRIED TO TURN ON THE TAP TO WASH IT AWAY BUT MY HANDS WERE TOO BUTTERY, AND KEPT SLIPPING. WHEN I FINALLY GOT THE WATER FLOWING, IT WAS LIKE ICE AND IT MADE IT ALL SO MUCH WORSE. I COULDN’T WIPE IT AWAY WITH TOWEL, AND BITS OF THE DISHRAG STUCK TO ME. FUCK, HOW DO I GET THIS OFF OF ME HOW HOW HOW GODDAMN FUCK IT’S THE SAME WHEN I SEE YOU. I CAN’T GET THE EMULSION OFF OF ME. MY HANDS. MY LIPS. AND I’VE TRIED. WARM WATER AND SOAP. ALCOHOL. REGRET. FUCK, HOW DO I GET THIS OFF OF ME

MANIC HAIBUN

ONE DAY AFTER A WEEK OF MENTAL SHAKES AND CONFUSION I SUDDENLY STOPPED SLEEPING FOR FIVE DAYS I’M TOLD MY BRAIN WAS IN FLAMES VOICES WERE TELLING ME TO EXPAND TO OPEN TO BE FREE ANGELS CALLED ME TO ECSTASY TO EXTEND IN SPACE LIKE A WHIRLING DYNAMO THEIR VOICES WERE FLOWERS IN THE WIND SWEET SOLEMN AND FRAGRANT MORE OF A SCENT THAN A VOICE IT WAS THE HIGHEST JOY IMAGINABLE YET EVERYTHING STILL SPUN APART NOTHING MADE SENSE A BLUR OF WHIRLING ENERGIES SURROUNDED ME SWALLOWED WHOLE I WAS AND I WAS NOT AND THE GROUND SIMPLY DISAPPEARED BENEATH ME JUST MONTHS BEFORE ALL HAD BEEN WELL SOMETHING IN THE AUTUMN WIND SHIFTED THE BLAZE TOOK MY HOUSE ONCE A SUMMER YELLOW WAS NOW THE COLOR OF ASHES AND GRIEF SMOLDERING IN THE WOODS AN UNWANTED COAL DARK AND COAL BURNED HEAP IT TOOK YEARS TO RECOVER AND BREATHE WHEN I DID FINALLY BREATHE IT WAS LAKE WATER CALM AND GOLDEN SUN WARM WITH CALM EASING THE FLUCTUATIONS OF MIND AND SONG *** A HOUSE ON FIRE NEEDS THE FLAMES QUELLED OUTWARDLY A MIND ON FIRE, IN

WAYFARERS

FRIDAY NIGHT JEEVA PICKED UP PÄR AND TWO WOMEN FROM OUTSIDE HIS BEACHFRONT HOTEL. “THEY NEED A LIFT,” PÄR SAID. HE TALKED TO JEEVA THROUGH THE DRIVER’S WINDOW. A CIGARETTE HUNG FROM THE SIDE OF HIS MOUTH. “NO PROBLEM,” JEEVA SAID. “WHERE?” “POINT.” JEEVA UNLOCKED THE CAR DOORS. “GET IN.” PÄR GOT INTO THE FRONT SEAT, A BLACK DUFFEL BAG ON HIS LAP, AND THE WOMEN GOT INTO THE BACK. “ONCE WE DROP THEM OFF, I WANT TO HEAD TO ROOKO’S,” PÄR SAID. “YOU REMEMBER HOW TO GET THERE?” “SURE,” JEEVA SAID. HE WAITED FOR A GAP IN TRAFFIC TO PULL AWAY FROM THE HOTEL. AN EAGLE TAXI STOPPED AND LET HIS CRESSIDA IN. JEEVA RAISED HIS HAND. THE WOMEN WERE NOISY, SHARING A CASTLE LITE BETWEEN THEMSELVES. PÄR PRODUCED A HIP FLASK, TOOK A SLUG, PASSED IT TO THEM. CHIC’S “LE FREAK” WAS ON THE RADIO. JEEVA WATCHED THE WOMEN SWAY TO THE MUSIC IN HIS REARVIEW MIRROR, RELAYING THE FLASK BETWEEN THEMSELVES. HE RECOGNISED BOTH OF THEM. PÄR HAD ENJOYED THEIR COMPANY ON ANOTHER OF HIS VISITS TO DURBAN. “WHAT YOU BEEN DOING SINCE THIS AFTERNOON?” PÄR ASKED. HE EXHALED A CLOUD OF SMOKE. “I HAD A FARE TO SIBAYA,” JEEVA SAID. “THE CASINO?”

“JA,” JEEVA SAID. “THE AUNTIE’S A PENSIONER – ONE OF MY REGULARS. SHE GOES ONCE A WEEK, LOSES TWO-THREE HUNDRED AT THE SLOTS, EATS AT THE BUFFET. SHE PAYS ME TO WAIT – WHEN SHE’S DONE I DRIVE HER BACK TO MORNINGSIDE.” “EASY MONEY,” PÄR SAID. “IT’S NOT BAD.” JEEVA LOOKED AT PÄR AND SMILED. THE SWEDE WAS DRESSED IN A PAIR OF BLUE JEANS, A T-SHIRT AND A BLACK HARRINGTON JACKET. HE WAS FRESHLY SHOWERED AND SMELT OF SHAMPOO. PÄR HAD BEEN WEARING HIS UNIFORM AND PEACOAT WHEN JEEVA HAD FETCHED HIM OUTSIDE THE PORT AUTHORITY CUSTOMS THIS MORNING. HE WAS EASY TO SPOT AMONGST THE OTHER SAILORS WAITING FOR TAXIS – A TALL, WELL-BUILT, TANNED BLOND WITH MOVIE STAR LOOKS. “THIS IS GOOD FOR YOUR’LL?” JEEVA ASKED THE WOMEN. HE WAS DOUBLE-PARKED OUTSIDE CONRAD’S ANCHOR – OR CONNIE’S AS EVERYONE CALLED IT. THE BAR WAS IN POINT ROAD AND POPULAR WITH WORKING LADIES, SAILORS, AND STEVEDORES. THE WOMEN IGNORED HIM. ONE SPOKE TO PÄR. “YOU COMING BACK, DOLL?” “WE’LL SEE. I’VE GOT SOME BUSINESS IN CHATSWORTH,” PÄR SAID. “DON’T BE LONG,” THE OTHER WOMAN SAID, LEANING OVER THE FRONT SEAT, PLANTING A KISS ON PÄR’S CHEEK. “TAKE THE EVENING OFF,” PÄR SAID. HE UNFURLED A ROLL OF CASH – A MIX OF DOLLARS, EUROS, AND RANDS – PEELED A STACK, AND HANDED IT TO THEM. THE WOMEN THANKED HIM, GOT OUT, AND WENT INTO CONNIE’S. JEEVA DROVE OFF. THEY WERE SOON ON THE M4 SOUTHERN FREEWAY. HE TURNED DOWN THE MUSIC, AND SWITCHED ON HIS POLICE SCANNER. HE WAS CHECKING FOR ROADBLOCKS ON HIGGINSON – THE HIGHWAY LEADING INTO CHATSWORTH. “HOW DOES IT LOOK?” PÄR ASKED. HE WAS CALMLY ROLLING A CIGARETTE EVEN THOUGH THE CAR WAS SWERVING TO AVOID POTHOLES.

“IT’S CLEAR. WE’LL BE THERE IN FIFTEEN,” JEEVA SAID. HE TURNED UP THE MUSIC AGAIN – LIONEL PILLAY’S “DEEPER IN BLACK”.

“I’M GOING TO NEED SOME HELP TONIGHT,” PÄR SAID. HE LIT HIS CIGARETTE. JEEVA DIDN’T REPLY. PÄR UNZIPPED THE DUFFEL ON HIS LAP, HELD IT OPEN TO JEEVA. HE LOOKED OVER. THE BAG WAS PACKED WITH SMALL SEALED BOXES. “RAY-BANS.” PÄR SAID. “THEY’RE WORTH THIRTY BUT I’M LETTING THEM GO FOR FIFTEEN TO MY CHATS BUYER.” “WHAT YOU NEED ME FOR?” JEEVA ASKED. THIS WAS NEW. HE HAD BEEN DRIVING PÄR TO HIS DEALS FOR THE PAST COUPLE OF YEARS, BUT HE HAD NEVER ASKED HIM TO GET INVOLVED BEFORE. PÄR ZIPPED THE DUFFEL SHUT, DRAGGED HIS CIGARETTE. “RAJESH IS OUT OF THE PICTURE. THERE’S A NEW GUY IN CHARGE. I NEVER MET HIM BEFORE. HIS NAME’S JIK. YOU HEARD OF HIM?” JEEVA SHOOK HIS HEAD. “I CALLED HIM THIS AFTERNOON, ONCE YOU LEFT. HE WANTS ME TO COME DOWN FROM FIFTEEN TO EIGHT. I’M NOT GOING TO DO THAT. I SAID I’LL CONSIDER FOURTEEN ” “YOU THINK HE’S GOING TO BE A PROBLEM?” “I DON’T KNOW, MAN. BUT HE SOUNDED LIKE A THUG – NOT A BUSINESSMAN LIKE RAJESH WAS. I THINK I NEED TO BE CAREFUL WITH HIM,” PÄR SAID. “AND YOU WANT ME TO GET YOU OUT OF THERE FAST? IF THINGS GO SHIT?” JEEVA ASKED. “RIGHT. A WHEELMAN. JIK WANTS TO MEET OUTSIDE ROOKO’S. YOU PARK NEARBY. IF I MAKE FOR THE CAR, HIT THE PEDAL,” PÄR SAID.

JEEVA TOOK IN WHAT HE HAD HEARD. “YOU GET A GRAND ON TOP OF YOUR NORMAL FEE,” PÄR SAID. “I CAN DO THAT. IT’S MORE ACTION THAN WAITING IN A PARKING LOT FOR A PENSIONER,” JEEVA SAID. “YOU CARRYING?” PÄR REACHED INSIDE HIS JACKET AND SLIPPED OUT A KNIFE, IN A PLASTIC SHEATH. “I GOT THIS,” HE SAID. HE PULLED THE KNIFE FROM THE SHEATH, SHOWED IT TO JEEVA. THE HANDLE WAS WOODEN AND LOOKED WORN WITH AGE, BUT THE BLADE WAS SHINY, SHARP – JEEVA COULD SEE IT GLEAM EVEN IN THE DARK OF THE CAR. “MORAKNIV – SWEDISH STEEL,” PÄR SAID. “THEY MAKE THEM WHERE I’M FROM, IN DALARNA.” “WHEN’S THE LAST TIME YOU WAS HOME?” “FUCK.” PÄR COUNTED OFF ON HIS FINGERS. “IT’S GOING TO BE THREE YEARS SOON.” HE TOSSED THE STUB OF CIGARETTE HE HAD BEEN SMOKING, AND BEGAN ROLLING ANOTHER. JEEVA SAT IN DARKNESS. HIS SEAT WAS LOWERED. THE ENGINE OF THE CRESSIDA WAS IDLING, AND THE HEADLIGHTS WERE TURNED OFF. HE WAS PARKED ON A BUSY STREET, HAZARDS ON. THIRTY METRES AHEAD WAS PÄR, TALKING TO TWO MEN OUTSIDE ROOKO’S SHEBEEN. OR RATHER HE WAS TALKING TO ONE OF THEM. JEEVA FIGURED THAT THIS WAS JIK. THE OTHER, TALLER, BROAD-SHOULDERED ONE, HUNG BACK. HE LOOKED TO BE THE MUSCLE. JEEVA WASN’T WATCHING THEM. HIS EYES WERE ON A MAN SLOUCHED ON THE PAVEMENT BEHIND PÄR. HE WAS IN THE SHADOWS, IT LOOKED LIKE HE WAS PASSED OUT DRUNK. THE MAN’S BODY WASN’T POSITIONED IN A NATURAL WAY. HIS POSTURE WAS RIGID. THERE WAS ALSO THE WAY HIS HEAD WAS TURNED TOWARDS PÄR. IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN FLOPPED ON HIS CHEST.

THEN JEEVA SAW IT, IN THE FLASH OF A PASSING CAR’S LIGHTS. THE MAN WAS CLUTCHING A BLACKJACK TO HIS SIDE. IT WAS AN AMBUSH. JEEVA PRESSED THE CAR’S HOOTER HARD, TURNED ON THE BRIGHTS. “BEHIND YOU!” HE SHOUTED. THE MAN WITH THE BLACKJACK JUMPED UP ALERT, BUT HE WAS RATTLED BY THE HOOTER. FOR A MOMENT HE DIDN’T SEEM TO KNOW WHAT TO DO. HE DECIDED TO CHARGE PÄR IN THE END, BLACKJACK RAISED. JIK AND HIS MUSCLE WERE BLINDED BY THE CRESSIDA’S LIGHTS. PÄR USED THE ADVANTAGE TO QUICKLY TAKE OUT HIS ATTACKER WITH A RIGHT TO THE FACE – KNOCKING HIM FLAT. HE THEN HANDLED JIK’S OTHER GOON, SLASHING HIS CHEST WITH HIS KNIFE, AND THEN KICKING HIM IN THE STOMACH. JIK GOT TO HIS KNEES STRAIGHT AWAY, RAISED HIS HANDS OVER HIS HEAD. HE MIGHT HAVE BEEN THE BOSS BUT HE WASN’T A FIGHTER. JEEVA DROVE TO PÄR, OPENED THE PASSENGER DOOR. PÄR GRINNED AT HIM. “HELVETE.” HE GRABBED HIS DUFFEL BAG, GOT INTO THE CAR, SHUT THE DOOR. “LET’S GO,” PÄR SAID. JEEVA SPED OFF. IT WAS SILENT IN THE CAR FOR A COUPLE OF MOMENTS BEFORE PÄR SPOKE. “THANKS FOR THAT, JEEVS. I OWE YOU ONE.” “NO HASSLES,” JEEVA SAID.

INSTEAD OF REACHING FOR HIS TOBACCO POUCH, PÄR OPENED A TIN OF SNUS, THE MOUTH TOBACCO JEEVA HAD SOMETIMES SEEN HIM USE. HE REMOVED ONE OF THE SMALL BAGS AND STUFFED IT UNDER HIS UPPER LIP. PÄR HAD ONCE TOLD HIM THAT THEY WERE HARD TO GET OUTSIDE OF SWEDEN, SO HE RATIONED THEM FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS. AFTER MANY TURNS THROUGH THE WINDING CHATSWORTH STREETS THEY WERE BACK ON HIGGINSON HIGHWAY, HEADING TO THE FREEWAY. “I STILL NEED TO GET RID OF THESE BEFORE I LEAVE PORT,” PÄR SAID, PATTING THE DUFFEL BAG. “I KNOW SOMEONE IN PHOENIX,” JEEVA SAID. “YOU WANT TO GO NOW?” “JAJAMÄN,” SAID PÄR. “IS THAT A YES?” “IT’S A YES. AND YOU GET A CUT TOO,” PÄR SAID. HE SMILED, THE SNUS PEEKING FROM UNDER HIS LIP. JEEVA TURNED UP THE MUSIC, GEORGE BENSON’S “GIVE ME THE NIGHT”, AND DROVE DOWN THE RAMP LEADING TO THE N2 TOWARDS PHOENIX.

MEMORIES

THERE’S NOTHING MORE DECEITFUL THAN MEMORIES FOR THEY TAKE UP THE SHAPE OF WHATEVER YOU NEED THEM TO BE

RATHER THAN WHAT’S TRUE LIKE A FICKLE AND FAITHLESS SERVANT THEY SERVE WHAT YOU WANT TO BE SERVED IF YOU WANT TO REMEMBER A TREE FELL ON YOU THEY WON’T TELL YOU YOU WERE THE ONE TO CUT IT FIRST

ASK THESE WALLS ALL THEY HAVE SEEN

WALLS IMPRINTED WITH THE MEMORY OF BLOOD-SOAKED HANDS DO NOT FORGET. PAINT OVER THEM BREAK IT ALL DOWN BUILD IT UP BACK AGAIN WATCH AS THEY SHOW YOU ALL THEY HAVE SEEN.

CURSE TO WRITE ABOUT YOU IS LIKE TRYING TO FIT A FOREST INTO A VASE. IT’D BE EASIER TO SOLVE A WITNESS-LESS COLD CASE THAN TO FIND A WORD TO DESCRIBE YOU IN ANY LANGUAGE THAT WOULDN’T SOUND LIKE THE SPLASH OF A PUDDLE TRYING TO OUTROAR THE OCEAN. I BEGIN TO WRITE ABOUT YOU AND END UP ARGUING WITH MYSELF. ONE LINE, NOT ENOUGH. YOU DESERVE A POEM HAIKU, TOO RESTRICTIVE RHYMING, TOO FORCED TO BE SINCERE PROSE FITS, BUT I’LL NEVER STOP YOU DESERVE A BOOK ABOUT YOU.

BOOKS*

ONE, ABOUT THE WAY YOU SMILE BECAUSE IT HAS BEEN THE REASON FOR MINE. SECOND, ABOUT THE WAY YOU SOFTENED YOUR VOICE WITH ME SPOTIFY KNOWS A LOT ABOUT ME BUT EVEN IT CAN’T TELL WHAT’S ACTUALLY ON MY ON-REPEAT. THIRD, WOULD BE HOW ALL YOUR LAME REPETITIVE JOKES STILL MAKE ME LAUGH YEARS LATER. FOURTH, ABOUT THE WAY YOU COULD MAKE ME FIGHT THE RAIN. HOW DARE IT FALL FOR YOU? FIFTH, WOULD BE ABOUT ME, WHERE I SEND MYSELF FOR A DIAGNOSIS. I CAN’T TELL WHETHER YOU ARE WHOM I MET, OR I CREATED YOU.

I COULD FINISH READING A LIBRARY FASTER THAN I’D LEARN SAYING YOUR NAME WITHOUT IT SOUNDING LIKE A PRAYER REMEMBERING YOU IS TRYING TO LIFT A CURSE WITH ANOTHER CURSE I THINK I HAVE FORGOTTEN YOUR FACE DID I CREATE YOU?

EAGLE AND THE RABBIT THE WORLD FROZE TO ICE A RABBIT HOPPED TWICE TO GREET HIS EAGLE FRIEND AS SHE FLEW BY THERE WAS NO OTHER SIGN OF LIFE, AS FAR AS THEY COULD SEE THE EAGLE GOT WEAKER WITH EACH DAY SHE WON'T EAT HER FRIEND, EVEN TO SURVIVE "HAVING SOMEONE TO GRIEVE YOU IS SWEETER THAN A LIFE WON WITH BETRAYAL, I ONLY WISH TO DIE ONCE” SHE SAYS TO HERSELF AS SHE SAVORS HER LAST SUNSET.

IS THIS OUR MULTIVERSE? WHEN YOU MOVE TO A NEW SCHOOL, EVERYONE THINKS YOU LIKE TO BE ALONE BUT MENTALLY YOU STILL LOOK FORWARD TO TALKING ABOUT YOUR DAY WITH YOUR OLD FRIENDS AT LUNCH. KIRA AT WORK DECLARES SHE HAS A FRIEND JUST LIKE YOU WHO IS ALSO ’SO LIBRA’, BUT YOU DON’T TELL HER YOU’RE ACTUALLY AN AQUARIUS. YOU WALK INTO A GROCERY STORE, SHARING NODS WITH PEOPLE FROM YOUR NEIGHBORHOOD BECAUSE, IN AN UNSAID WAY, THEY KNOW YOU WILL BE WALKING HOME TOGETHER. YOU HAVE TOO MANY FRIENDS ON THE INTERNET BUT ONLY ONE OF THEM KNOWS HOW MANY TIMES YOU ALMOST GAVE UP ON THE WORLD. YOU WALK BY THE SAME ICE CREAM SHOP EVERY DAY AND THE SHOP OWNER KNOWS YOU ONLY COME IN WHEN YOU’RE SAD. ALL THE DOGS ON THE STREET CAN TELL YOUR SCENT FROM A STREET AWAY AND THINK YOU SMELL LIKE LOVE AND TREATS. YOUR RELATIVES CAN’T EVEN SPELL YOUR NAME RIGHT AND TWO OF YOUR COUSINS HATE PLAYING WITH YOU BECAUSE YOU CHEAT IN CHESS, BUT THEY REFUSE TO LEARN THAT’S HOW THE HORSE PIECES ARE SUPPOSED TO MOVE. YOU WERE A TEACHER’S PET TO SOME WHILE OTHER TEACHERS NEVER REALLY NOTICED YOU DESPITE YOU SITTING IN THE FRONT ROW FOR YEARS, AND ONE OF THEM TOLD YOU IT’LL BE A MIRACLE IF YOU LIVE PAST 18. YOUR SIBLINGS KNOW YOU ARE SENSITIVE. YOUR MOTHER NEVER ASKS IF YOU NEED HELP BECAUSE YOU TURNED OUT FINE WITHOUT ANY. WHEN YOU TAKE THE METRO, A STRANGER GETS TO JUDGE WHAT SONG YOU LIKE TO PLAY ON REPEAT. YOUR NEIGHBORS KNOW HOW OFTEN YOU STRUGGLE TO FALL ASLEEP. BEFORE YOU LEAVE HOME EACH MORNING, YOU QUICKLY LOOK INTO THE MIRROR, NO ONE KNOWS YOU, YET NONE OF THEM ARE WRONG.

FROM THE DEPTHS OF THE NIGHT TW: NSFW, CHILD ABUSE

HERE COMES THAT OLD NIGHTMARE AGAIN; ALWAYS THE SAME. HE’S SEATED ON A STOOL IN THE CENTER OF THE ROOM. AN OLD-FASHIONED LIVING ROOM FILLED WITH CHINTZY THINGS AND A BIG TABLE COVERED IN PAPER-LACE. ALL THE FAMILY PICTURES ARE FRAMED IN SILVER, BUT HE CAN’T SEE THE FACES: THEY’RE BLURRED AND MELDED WITH THE SEASIDE BACKGROUND. HE’S A CHILD AGAIN, AND THE PIERCING ON HIS LOWER LIP FEELS COLD ON HIS YOUNG AND TENDER FLESH. HE KNOWS WHAT’S COMING. HE CAN ONLY WATCH AS IT MAKES ITS ENTRANCE FROM THE CORRIDOR. IT MOVES LIKE A SCRIBBLE ON A PAGE. IT MOVES LIKE FOG. IT MOVES LIKE THE FRAMES OF AN 8MM FILM RIPPED APART AND PROJECTED AT RANDOM. ITS HUMAN SHAPE IS THE CLOAK UNDER WHICH DARKNESS FESTERS. AND WHEN IT’S CLOSE, ONE HAND REACHES OUT TO CARESS HIS FACE. IT FEELS LIKE A BELT LASHING. AND THEN ERIC WOKE UP. WHEN HIS EYES OPENED, THE LIVING ROOM HAD MORPHED INTO A DINGY MOTEL ROOM. IT SMELLED OF PISS AND MOLD, AND THE SHEETS WERE MOIST WITH SWEAT, NOT ALL ORIGINALLY FROM ERIC’S BODY. ONLY THE SOUND OF THE TV BUZZING DIMLY BREAKS THE SILENCE. ERIC FLAILED HIS LEFT ARM, TRYING TO REACH FOR HIS BAG. BLINDLY, HE OPENED IT AND GRABBED THE PILL BOTTLE. THE FAMILIAR GESTURE: TWO CAPS OF PAROXETINE TRAVELED SLOWLY THROUGH HIS DRY THROAT. ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ROOM DAVIS WAS SLEEPING SOUNDLY, THE CONTOURS OF HIS BODY LIT BY THE NEON PALM TREES GLOWING OUTSIDE THE WINDOW. DOES HE EVER DREAM A BAD DREAM? THOUGHT ERIC. NO, ERIC WAS PRETTY SURE DAVIS’ SLUMBER WAS ALWAYS ENGULFED IN TOTAL DARKNESS, BLESSED BY THE DEEP SLEEP THAT COMES TO THE PEOPLE WHO KEEP OTHER PEOPLE AWAKE: DAVIS NEVER HAD A BAD DREAM AND THAT’S BECAUSE HE DOES BAD THINGS. BUT HE’S USEFUL TO KEEP AROUND. EVEN IF HE GIVES EVERYONE THE CREEPS, HE WAS THE ONE TO FIND THIS JOB; REALLY, HE WAS THE ONE KEEPING ERIC AROUND. “I’M GIVING YOU THE CHANCE TO EARN A QUICK BUCK, KID” HE SAID THE WEEK BEFORE, WITH HIS FACE GRIMACING LIKE A CAT IN HEAT. “HAVE YOU EXPERIENCED THE PLEASURES OF FIRE?” SOMEBODY, SOME BIG SHOTS DAVIS WAS IN CONTACT WITH, NEEDED A PLACE IN SISKIYOU COUNTY BURNT TO A CRISP: THE USUAL BIT OF INSURANCE FRAUD TO RECOUP SOME OF THE COSTS. IT WAS AN EASY JOB, JUST A BIT OF A HIKE GOING ALL THE WAY UP THERE.

“YOU REALLY LOOK LIKE SOMEONE WHO LIKES TO WATCH THINGS BURN” SAID DAVIS TO ERIC THAT NIGHT. HE LET ERIC DRIVE FOR MOST OF IT. DAVIS SPENT THE WHOLE THING LOOKING OUTSIDE THE CAR WINDOW AND BABBLING INCOHERENTLY SOME SPIRITUAL BURNOUT BULLSHIT. “A NEW AGE IS DAWNING BEFORE US, YOU KNOW. IT BECKONS AND CALLS TO ALL MEN WHO CAN DARE TO PEER INTO THE FUTURE. A MANDATE HAS BEEN BESTOWED UPON US, A CALL TO HURL YOURSELF INTO THE FRENZY OF PREDATION.” HE SAVORED HIS WORDS, WITH A TONE OPPOSITE OF HIS USUALLY SQUEAKY VOICE. “ANY BEAST HAS TO EAT WHAT IS PROPER TO IT. WE HAVE TO PROCURE THE RIGHT MEAL. AND GORGE ON IT TO GROW FIT FOR THE COMING AGE. IT’S A TERRIBLE GAME. A TERRIBLY CRUEL GAME. THAT IS DESTINY: A TERRIBLE THING.” HE LET OUT A DEEP BREATH, LIKE SOMEONE WHO FEIGNS UNWILLINGNESS. “YET WE NEED TO BE WORTHY OF IT, LEST WE FIND OURSELVES LACKING ONCE THE SKY RIPS OPEN THE WATERS OF INFINITY AND BIRTHS THE NEW AEON UPON US”.

AND THEN, FINALLY TURNING HIS RAT FACE TO ERIC HE ASKED. “DO YOU KNOW WHAT AN AEON IS, KID?” “NO”, ERIC ANSWERED. “IT DOESN’T MATTER. YOU SHALL BE JUDGED ANYWAY. FIRE IS A JUDGE TOO. IT DESTROYS WHAT CAN’T WITHSTAND IT”.

THEY WERE TO SPEND THE NEXT DAY COOPED UP IN THE MOTEL, KEEP A LOW PROFILE AND ALL THAT. BUT AS SOON AS MORNING CAME, ERIC STARTED FEELING RESTLESS. THE AIR WAS THICK WITH HUMIDITY AND THE WALLS OF THAT ROOM SEEMED TO CLOSE IN ON HIM EVER SO SLIGHTLY OVER TIME. THE PILLS, TOO, WERE BECOMING SCARCE: NOT A CHANCE THEY WOULD LAST UNTIL HE GOT BACK HOME. DAVIS, FOR HIS PART, SEEMED NONPLUSSED. HE WAS GIGGLING LIKE A TODDLER WATCHING AN OLD-TIMEY CARTOON ON THE TV AND EVERY TIME THOSE ANIMALS GOT BOINKED ON THEIR HEADS OR FELL INTO A PIT HE SOUNDED LIKE A DOOR THAT HADN’T BEEN OILED IN A LONG TIME. CONVERSELY, ERIC HAD NOTHING ELSE TO DO THAN WATCH THAT MAN WATCH TV. AND IT DAWNED ON HIM THAT HE HARDLY KNEW WHO THE FUCK DAVIS WAS.

HE RAN IN THE SAME CIRCLES OF DOPE FIENDS, JAILBIRDS AND RUNAWAYS THAT ERIC HUNG AROUND, BUT HE WASN’T ONE OF THEM. FOR ONE HE WAS OLD. FORTY, MAYBE FIFTY YEARS OLD BY HIS LOOKS, AND IF NOT THEN, HE WAS AGING LIKE MILK UNDER THE CALIFORNIA SUN. WHICH WAS WEIRD, BECAUSE ERIC ALSO HAD NEVER SEEN DAVIS DO ANY DRUGS OR NOTHING. HE’D NEVER EVEN SEEN HIM DRINK A BEER. HE WAS AROUND THOUGH, ALWAYS WATCHING OTHER PEOPLE SMOKE OR STUFF SHIT UP THEIR NOSES, SEEMINGLY GETTING HIGH BY PROXY. HE WAS LIKE THE CREEP GUARDIAN ANGEL, WATCHING HIS CHILDREN GO TO HELL. ERIC LAUGHED UNDER HIS BREATH AT THE THOUGHT AND BROKE THE SPELL THAT GLUED DAVIS TO THE TV, WHO SHIFTED HIS VIEW ON ERIC. “I’M GOING OUT, MAN” SAID ERIC STANDING UP FROM THE BED. “WHAT FOR?” “”I JUST NEED SOME AIR. AND I’LL SEE IF I CAN GRAB A BEER SOMEWHERE”.

“BE HOME SOON, SON”, SAID DAVIS WITH THIS WEIRD SITCOM-WIFE VOICE. ERIC WASN’T SURPRISED TO DISCOVER THAT THE WHOLE MOTEL WAS A RUIN, LIKE A NUCLEAR BOMB HAD BEEN DROPPED NOT FAR FROM THERE AND WHAT WAS STILL STANDING WAS FOR THE SURVIVORS TO SCAVENGE AND TAKE SHELTER IN. EVERY TENANT LOOKED LIKE SOMETHING BAD HAD HAPPENED TO THEM. SOME, LIKE THE OVERWEIGHT BLACK LADY IN 106, LOOKED LIKE SOMETHING BAD WAS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW. SHE WAS STANDING ON THE DOORWAY AND HER EYES ENCOUNTERED ERIC’S FOR A SPLIT SECOND, ENOUGH TIME FOR HER TO DECIDE HE WASN’T AFTER HER AND EASE HER GUARD. THERE WAS A GIRL AT THE RECEPTION DESK. SHE WAS COUCHED WITH HER FEET ON A DUMPY LEATHERETTE CHAIR. SHE COULDN’T BE OLDER THAN SIXTEEN. “IS THERE SOMEWHERE AROUND HERE WHERE I CAN BUY A BEER?” ASKED ERIC. SHE RAISED HER HEAD FROM THE BEATEN UP MAGAZINE SHE WAS READING AND LAZILY YAWNED DIRECTIONS FOR A DINER UP THE ROAD. FROM OUTSIDE THE MOTEL ERIC COULD SEE THE ROOM HE AND DAVIS WERE STAYING IN, HE COULD EVEN HEAR THE TV WAS STILL ON. BUT DAVIS WASN’T WATCHING ANYMORE: HE WAS NEXT TO HIS BED, HUNKERED OVER TALKING TO THE PHONE.

ERIC REACHED FOR THE PILLS IN HIS POCKET AND DOWNED ONE. “DO YOU HAVE ONE FOR ME? I’LL SUCK YOUR DICK FOR TWO”. THE BLONDE GIRL FROM THE RECEPTION JUMPED FROM BEHIND HIM. SHE RAN UP TO HIM THE MOMENT SHE SAW ERIC POP THE BOTTLE. BEFORE ERIC COULD MAKE A DECISION, SHE TOOK HIS HAND AND DRAGGED HIM SPEEDILY BEHIND THE MOTEL FACADE, IN A LITTLE JUNKYARD FULL OF RUSTY OIL CANS. EVEN THOUGH SHE HAD A CHIPPED TOOTH, SHE HAD A VERY SWEET SMILE, ERIC THOUGHT, ONCE SHE WENT DOWN ON HER KNEES AND LOOKED UP TO HIM. NOT MUCH OF AN EXPERT AT SUCKING DICK THOUGH, IT WAS MORE OF A HAND THING: HER LIPS JUST LIGHTLY PRESSED ON THE TIP OF HIS DICK WHILE HER HAND WENT UP AND DOWN THE SHAFT. ERIC, THEN PUT HIS HAND ON HER HEAD, SUBMERGING IT IN HER WHEATEN HAIR, PUSHING WITH ENOUGH FORCE SO THAT SHE’D TAKE THE HINT AND GO LOWER. SHE SHOVED HIS ARM AWAY, STOPPED AND LOOKED RIGHT BACK AT ERIC, WITH HER LIPS SHINY WITH SALIVA. “DON’T TOUCH ME”, SHE SAID. ONCE ERIC WAS FINISHED, SHE SPAT HIS CUM AND WITH THE WIDEST SMILE AND AN OPEN HAND, SHE REQUESTED HER PAYMENT. ERIC OBLIGED, EVEN THOUGH ONE PART OF HIM WAS BEGGING TO STIFF HER; NOW HE WAS OUT OF PILLS. SHE PUT ONE IN HER MOUTH AND ONE IN THE BACK POCKET OF HER JEANS, AND, BEFORE WALKING AWAY, SHE KISSED HIM ON THE CHEEK. BACK ON THE MOTEL FRONT, ERIC GLANCED AT HIS ROOM AGAIN. DAVIS WAS STANDING THERE LOOKING RIGHT AT HIM FROM THE WINDOW. HE TOO, LOOKED LIKE HE JUST GOT HIS ROCKS OFF. ERIC DIDN’T MENTION IT, AND NEITHER DAVIS CARED TO EXPLAIN HIMSELF. “LET’S GET GOING, BOY”, HE SAID ONCE THE SUN WENT DOWN, “THE PLACE IS SOME MILES OUT IN THE STICKS: FOLLOW MY DIRECTIONS AND WE’LL GET THERE”. THEY GOT ON THE MOVE, DRIVING ON AN INCREASINGLY BUMPIER ROAD, IN SILENCE, SERENADED ONLY BY THE SWIRLING OF THE GASOLINE IN THE BACK OF THE CAR. “THIS IS THE PLACE, JUST TURN RIGHT HERE”, SAID DAVIS. ERIC OBEYED AND AFTER HALF A MILE HE STOPPED THE CAR IN FRONT OF A BIG IRON GATE. “WE’RE NOT EXACTLY BURNING A RESTAURANT OR A LAUNDROMAT, ARE WE?” ASKED ERIC. “WHAT MADE YOU THINK SOMETHING LIKE THAT?”

THERE WAS A BIG GOLD PLAQUE ON THE BARS OF THE GATE. UNDER THE CAR LIGHTS IT READ “MT. SHASTA CENTER OF ARTS FOR GIFTED KIDS” AND, BEHIND IT, LAY A STONY PATH LEADING TO A TWO STORY COLONIAL MANSION SURROUNDED BY PINE TREES. DAVIS WAS ADAMANT THEY COULDN’T BREAK INTO IT, NO NEED TO GIVE ANY MOTIVES FOR INSURANCE NOT TO PAY. “WE NEED TO HAUL THE GAS TANKS OVER THE FENCE AND THEN CLIMB OVER. WE HAVE TO DO THIS LEGIT”, HE SAID. AND SO THEY DID. INSIDE THE MANSION, EVERYTHING LOOKED LIKE A LOT OF MONEY WAS POURED INTO IT, AND SOON SO WOULD A LOT OF GASOLINE. THERE WAS A BIG HALL WITH A HUGE BRIAR DESK; EVERY WALL WAS DECORATED WITH TROPHIES, STUFFED ANIMALS, AND PICTURES. MANY FRAMED PICTURES OF KIDS AND TEACHERS. THEY WERE PAINTING OR PLAYING IN THE WOODS OR DOING RECITALS, JUST SMILING HAPPY TO BE THERE. ERIC, UNDER DAVIS’ SUGGESTION, WENT UPSTAIRS TO SET EVERYTHING UP. “TO DO IT LEGIT”, DAVIS SAID, “YOU NEED TO FIND THE ELECTRICAL SOCKETS AND SHOWER THEM WITH GAS, SO THEY THINK IT’S AN ELECTRICAL MALFUNCTION. THEN YOU JUST POUR THE REST ALONG THE WALLS AND THE WHOLE THING WILL BE ASHES IN A MINUTE. NOW GO, I’LL TAKE CARE OF THE IGNITION”.

UPSTAIRS IT WAS ALL BEDROOMS; A SERIES OF 10 SMALL ROOMS WITH 3 OR 4 BEDS EACH, DIVIDED BY A LONG HALLWAY. EVERY ROOM WAS STILL FURNISHED LIKE EVERYONE JUST WENT HOME FOR CHRISTMAS BREAK: BOOKS WERE OPEN ON THE DESKS, YOU COULD SEE PANTS HANGING LIMPLY FROM HALF-OPENED CLOSETS, EVEN THE BEDS LOOKED LIKE THEY WERE MADE THAT DAY. THE SCHOOL WAS STILL LIVING A HALF-LIFE AND DAVIS AND ERIC WERE THERE TO PUT AN END TO IT. SO ERIC PUT HIMSELF AT WORK, SCANNING EVERY ROOM FOR THOSE SOCKETS AND BAPTIZING THEM WITH GAS. HE HOPED IT WOULD ALL BE OVER SOON: NOT SO MUCH FOR THE MONEY AS FOR THE LACK OF PILLS AND, EVEN MORE SO, TO NEVER SEE DAVIS’ UGLY MUG AGAIN. OR FOR A LONG WHILE AT LEAST. EVERYTHING NOW REEKED OF GASOLINE, SO MUCH SO ERIC COULDN’T SMELL HIS OWN SEAT AS HE WORKED THROUGH THOSE BEDROOMS. SOON, HE FELT HIS HEAD BECOME LIGHT AND WHILE PULLING THE DESK FROM THE WALL TO REACH THE SOCKET BEHIND IT, HE TUMBLED ON HIS ASS LIKE A KID. SOMEONE LAUGHED FROM THE HALLWAY. OF COURSE THE ASSHOLE FOLLOWED ME, THOUGHT ERIC, HE CAN’T GET HIS EYES OFF OF ME.

“DO YOU WANT TO FUCK ME, OLD MAN?” HE YELLED, BUT HE GOT NO ANSWER; JUST MORE LAUGHTER. READY TO PUNCH DAVIS IN HIS RODENT EYES, ERIC STORMED INTO THE HALLWAY, SURE TO FIND HIM GIGGLING IN A CORNER. BUT NO ONE WAS THERE EXCEPT A SHAPE DARKER THAN EVERYTHING ELSE AROUND IT. BLACKER THAN BLACK, IT STOOD ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HALLWAY. THE DARK SHAPE DIDN’T HAVE A MOUTH, BUT IT WAS LAUGHING; IT DIDN’T HAVE EYES, BUT IT WAS STARING. ERIC BECAME LOCKED IN THAT STARE. AND JUST AS THAT MOMENT SEEMED TO EXTEND ITS STILLNESS TO ETERNITY, A TRAP DOOR CRACKED OPEN FROM THE CEILING. THE LAUGHTER STOPPED, THE SHAPE VANISHED. ERIC WAS STILL DIZZY,UNSURE OF WHAT HE SAW, OR IF HE WAS ANYTHING AT ALL, BUT CLIMBED UP THE LADDER. THESE ARE THE KIND OF SIGNS YOU CAN’T JUST IGNORE. THE ATTIC WAS BRIMMING WITH CARDBOARD BOXES. ERIC GRABBED THE ONE RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM, “GAME SESSION ‘87” WAS WRITTEN WITH A SHARPIE ON ITS SIDE AND IN IT THERE WERE A BUNCH OF PHOTOGRAPHS AND CONTACT SHEETS. ERIC’S EAR BEGAN TO RING LIKE A BROKEN RADIO TRANSMITTER. HOW DO YOU WATCH WHAT CAN’T BE WATCHED? IT’S A HIDEOUS SECRET, IT’S LIKE CATCHING GOD DOING SOMETHING OBSCENE. A KID, MANY KIDS, NAKED, SMEARED, CHAINED, BRUISED, ENCIRCLED BY ROBED PEOPLE, TOUCHED BY NAKED PEOPLE. SOME ARE CRYING, OTHERS ARE LAUGHING, NEITHER KNOWS WHAT’S HAPPENING TO THEM. ERIC REMAINS FIXATED ON ONE PICTURE IN PARTICULAR. A YOUNG BOY, CURLY HAIR AND PUFFY CHEEKS, NAKED ON HIS KNEES. HE’S CRYING WHILE A PAIR OF HANDS FROM SOMEONE OUTSIDE THE FRAME PRESENT HIM WITH A BLOODIED PAIR OF FRESHLY CUT TESTICLES. ANIMAL TESTICLES, ERIC’S GUESS. YOU CAN BARELY READ THE TAIL END OF A POSTER ON THE WALL BEHIND THE KID. “EXPLORING THE ARTS” IT SAYS. “YOU FINISHED UP THERE BOY?” DAVIS’ VOICE BROKE THROUGH THE RINGING AND BROUGHT ERIC BACK TO REALITY. “THERE’S SOME BURNT OFFERINGS TO MAKE”. SILENTLY ERIC WENT DOWNSTAIRS. HIS ROTTEN GRIN CATCHING THE FAINT LIGHT OF THE MOON OUTSIDE. IT WAS THE ONLY THING YOU COULD SEE IN THE DARK. THAT AND THE SILVER ZIPPO IN HIS HAND WHICH FELL ONCE ERIK PUNCHED HIM IN HIS FACE.

BEFORE DAVIS COULD REGAIN HIS GROUND OR COLLECT HIS BREATH ERIC KICKED HIM IN THE GROIN CAUSING HIM TO HUNCH OVER LIKE AN OLD DEFLATED BALL. THEN ERIK PUNCHED HIS FACE AGAIN. AND AGAIN. ERIC’S KNUCKLES BECAME BLOODY AND SWOLLEN BUT HE COULD ONLY FEEL HIS TEETH DIGGING HARDER AND HARDER ON HIS LOWER LIP, ALMOST TOUCHING HIS PIERCING WITH HIS CANINE. ERIK DIDN’T STOP ONCE DAVIS FELL ON THE GROUND: HE CONTINUED TO PUNCH UNTIL HE SAW TWO DROPS OF HIS OWN BLOOD FALL DOWN FROM HIS MOUTH INTO WHAT ONCE WAS DAVIS’ FACE. IN THAT LIVID MESS, ERIC COULD STILL SEE THE RAT GRINNING, EVEN THOUGH HE HAD NO MORE TEETH TO FLASH, NO MORE LIPS TO MOVE AND TALK HIS RANCID TALK. IS THIS THE RIGHT MEAL FOR YOU? ERIC THOUGHT, IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED TO EAT, YOU FILTHY ANIMAL. HE THEN GOT UP AND STOMPED ON HIM A COUPLE OF TIMES; DAVIS DIDN’T EVEN HAVE ENOUGH IN HIM TO GROAN, BUT HE WAS STILL ALIVE. ERIC FOUND DAVIS’ ZIPPO BESIDE HIS LEFT FOOT AND PICKED IT UP. WITHOUT A SECOND THOUGHT HE LIT IT AND THREW IT AT THE GAPING DARKNESS BEFORE HIM. EVERYTHING LIT UP IN A SECOND. DRENCHED IN SWEAT AND BLOOD, STILL NOT SOBERING UP TO THE REALITY OF THE SITUATION HE RAN AND JUMPED OVER THE FENCE, STOPPING ONLY WHEN HE COULD REST OVER THE SIDE OF THE CAR THEY RODE IN, HIS BODY BEGGING FOR PAROXETINE MORE THAN EVER. ONE DAY, ERIC THOUGHT, HE’S GOING TO DREAM OF THE BURNING SCHOOL IN THE WOODS AGAIN, THE HOTLY ANTICIPATED SEQUEL TO HIS OLD RECURRING NIGHTMARE. HE FELT HE WAS JUDGED THERE, IN THAT DAVIS WAS RIGHT, BUT THE VERDICT WASN’T CLEAR TO HIM AT ALL. THE BUILDING WAS A CRACKLING BALL OF FIRE IN THE CORNER OF ERIK’S EYES WHEN HE STARTED HIS ENGINE AND DROVE AWAY. THEN ANOTHER CAR APPEARED FROM THE BEND AND FOLLOWED HIM.

A GUY NAMED OSCAR

*MORE PEOPLE DIE IN WINTER MONTHS THAN ANY OTHER TIME OF YEAR

I HAVE NO FACTS ON WHICH TO BASE THIS BUT WHEN YOU LIVE DOWN THE STREET FROM A HOSPITAL AND AMBULANCE SIRENS SCREAM PAST YOUR WINDOW, WHAT FEELS LIKE EVERY HALF-HOUR THEN YOU MAKE SOME UNSCIENTIFIC ASSUMPTIONS ANOTHER SUCH ASSUMPTION— I WAS NEVER GOING TO BE ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE WHO HALFWAY THROUGH THE MOVIE OF THEIR LIFE LOUDLY EXCLAIMED TO A ROOM FULL OF DISBELIEVERS, “I’M GONNA DO SOMETHING WONDERFUL WITH MY LIFE!” AND ANOTHER— I FIND NO JOY WHATSOEVER NO WORTH WHATSOEVER IN THE HOLLYWOOD ELITE WINNING AWARDS OF ANY KIND LET ALONE MAKING AN ENTIRE EVENING OF IT THERE ARE MILLIONS OF PEOPLE ON THIS PLANET TRYING EVERY MINUTE OF EVERY DAY TO SIMPLY EXIST WITHOUT PERIL, PUTTING ON A FACE MOST DON’T WISH TO WEAR AND CERTAINLY MUCH BETTER ACTORS IN DOING SO THAN ANYONE UNDER THE HOLLYWOOD SPOTLIGHT A SPOTLIGHT DOING NOTHING MORE THAN BURNING A BIGGER HOLE IN THE OZONE *THERE ARE MORE AMBULANCES ON THE ROAD IN THIS COUNTRY THAN TREES IN THE STATE OF OREGON I HAVE NO FACTS ON WHICH TO BASE THIS BUT THEN, I GET ALL MY NEWS FROM A GUY NAMED OSCAR

OFFICE MEMO

JUST A REMINDER IN CASE YOU’VE ALL FORGOTTEN, THE THINGS WE’VE KILLED: OUR OWN KIND— MY AUNTS, UNCLES, COUSINS, YOUR FRIENDS, COWORKERS, CHILDREN. TREES— THOSE THINGS THAT PROVIDE SHADE TO KEEP THE BLARING SUN FROM SEARING THROUGH YOUR WINDOWS. THOSE THINGS THAT PROVIDE SHELTER FOR ALL THE LITTLE ANIMALS… WHICH WE’VE ALSO KILLED. OCEAN LIFE— A HUNDRED THOUSAND DIFFERENT SPECIES? A MILLION? THE OZONE— OUR LIFE SHIELD. OUR LIFE SHIELD. HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY, OUR LIFE SHIELD? THE HUMAN SPIRIT— OUR INTELLECT, EMOTIONS, FEARS, PASSIONS, CREATIVITY. LOOK IT UP. THE WILL TO LIVE— WITHOUT THE HUMAN SPIRIT, IS THERE A REASON TO KEEP GOING? KINDNESS— IT TAKES VERY LITTLE TO BE IT, BUT TAKES AWAY SO MUCH WHEN IT’S GONE. THE GRASS, THE BEES… IF YOU DO LOOK IT UP YOU’LL FIND A LIST OF THINGS THROUGHOUT HISTORY THAT HAVE KILLED HUMANS BUT NO SUCH LIST OF THE THINGS WE’VE KILLED. *ALSO, PLEASE REMEMBER NOT TO PUT YOUR DIRTY DISHES IN THE SINK. THAT’S WHAT A DISHWASHER IS FOR.

LIKE CLOCKWORK 3AM A BAD DREAM FINDS YOU AWAKE EARLIER THAN NORMAL. YOUR BRAIN FIGHTING WITH THE IDEA THAT NOW YOU’LL OVERSLEEP, BUT MAYBE NOT, BUT POSSIBLY, BUT WHY? YOU FLOAT IN YOUR FAMILIAR HAZE ALL THE WAY TO WORK. UP THE ELEVATOR, IT SMELLS LIKE FUNK AND HOUSE PAINT THOUGH THERE ISN’T A SINGLE PAINTED SURFACE IN IT. THE COFFEE IS DRIPPING JUST AS SLOWLY AS YOUR TIRED BODY IS MOVING. YOU LOOK OUT THE WINDOW. IT’S ONE OF THOSE DAYS AGAIN YOU WONDER, WHAT’S THE POINT OF IT, WHAT IS YOUR PURPOSE? WHY DO YOU EVEN EXIST IF YOU’RE NOT PART OF ANYTHING? THE SUN IS UP. TRAFFIC IS MOVING SLOWLY AS TRAFFIC DOES. THE STEEL MILLS ARE SPEWING SMOKE. THE MACHINES ARE POUNDING AWAY IN THE STREETS. AND YOU REALIZE THE TINY, TINY SPECK THAT YOU ARE IS INDEED PART OF SOMETHING. IT’S JUST NOT WRITTEN ON A DILAPIDATED BILLBOARD UNDER FLICKERING LIGHTS FOR ALL TO SEE.

MORNING COFFEE WITH A SPLASH OF BLOOD OATH A HAUNTING OF NUNS, ALL DRAPED IN VIRGIN WHITE TUNICS, HEADS DOWN, SINGLE FILE, A WADDLING OF PENGUINS, EXITED THE SIDE DOOR OF A CHURCH AS I WAS DRIVING TO WORK. IT WAS AROUND 6:45AM. IT ALL LOOKED VERY SECRETIVE. THE STREETS WERE QUIET, AS QUIET AS A GAGGLE OF NUNS HIDING SECRETS. WERE THEY CARVING EACH OTHER’S VIRGIN SKIN IN A BLOOD OATH WHILE GOD WAS RESTING? WHAT DOES A CONSTERNATION OF NUNS DO BEHIND CLOSED DOORS, BESIDES HIDE THINGS IN THE WALLS?

YOUR WORKORDER HAS BEEN CREATED MY BRAIN IS IN A SORT OF FORCED STATE, THE SAME AS SAY, A MALFUNCTIONING DOOR ALARM. I TRY TO RESET IT WITH A FEW DEEP BREATHS, A CUP OF COFFEE, IMAGES OF NATURE, A CROWBAR TO THE SKULL, BUT THE LIGHTS CONTINUE FLASHING RED. THE PURPOSE OF A DOOR IS, ONE OF THEM, IS TO KEEP THINGS OUT. AND THE SAME PURPOSE CAN BE SAID OF MY SKULL, TO KEEP THOSE THINGS OUT OF MY BRAIN THAT HAVE NO PURPOSE. BUT STILL, THEY FIND A WAY. CRANIAL SOMATIC DYSFUNCTION… SOUNDS BAD

NEVER QUITE READY TW: LOSS OF PARENT

I WAS TEN WHEN MY GRANDMOTHER DIED AND MY MOM CHOKED OUT “NOW I’M AN ORPHAN!” IN BETWEEN SOBS, AND I REMEMBER WONDERING HOW SHE COULD BE CONSIDERED AN ORPHAN WHEN SHE WAS A FULL ADULT— IN MY CHILD MIND, I HAD ONLY CONSIDERED ORPHANS TO BE CHILDREN, SIXTEEN OR SEVENTEEN AT THE MOST, AND DID SHE THINK HERSELF A CHILD? BUT THEN I WAS TWENTY-ONE AND IT WAS NOW MY MOM WHO HAD PASSED AND I SOBBED, ALONE IN MY DORM ROOM, THINKING THAT I’D FINALLY UNDERSTOOD THOSE WORDS, BECAUSE WHO WAS GOING TO HOLD ME AS TEARS FELL IN RIVULETS TO THE LINOLEUM FLOOR? I WISHED THEY WOULD STAIN CRIMSON, SOMETHING TO SHOW FOR THE CHUNK RIPPED FROM MY HEART, PROOF THAT PAIN HAPPENED HERE

CONSIDER THE VIOLETS I IMAGINE A PLACE WHERE YARDS ARE DRESSED IN GREENERY A POP OF PURPLE, MAYBE YELLOW TOO NOT THIS DECAY AND POLITICAL ATTIRE YOU BEG PASSERSBY TO SEE YOU THE DESPERATION IS PALPABLE STAMPING BARE FEET INTO THICK MUD A TANTRUM, JUST TO PROVE A POINT BUT NOT THE POINT YOU THINK YOU’RE PROVING YOUR FEET GET STUCK, DRIED MUCK LIKE ANCHORS I ASK THAT YOU CONSIDER THE VIOLETS OBSERVE THEIR DELICATE EXISTENCE SEE HOW THEY BLEED BEAUTY A CONTAGION OF IMBUED CALM LEND ME PEACE SUCH AS THIS

CANDIED REMEMBRANCE TW: MENTAL HEALTH/DEPRESSION/BPD

THIS MORNING IS EASIER THAN YESTERDAY MORNING BUT I FIND MY MIND IS MUDDLED WITH CANDIED RECOLLECTIONS, THE GHOST OF YOU COME TO HAUNT THE CONSCIOUSNESS OF ME / I’VE CERTAINLY CONSIDERED THAT THIS TOAST IS A BIT MORE DONE THAT I’D PREFER BUT NOT EVERYTHING CAN BE PERFECT, THOUGH I FONDLY REMEMBER THE DAY YOU CALLED ME AND ASKED WHAT I WAS DOING AND DID I WANT TO GO TO CHICAGO? RIGHT NOW? YES, RIGHT NOW, GRAB YOUR THINGS AND LET’S GO / YOU WERE ALREADY PARKED OUTSIDE OF MY DORM, YOU KNEW I WOULD SAY YES, OF COURSE I WOULD SAY YES— I SO SELDOM RECEIVED THIS VERSION OF YOU, PRIMED WITH JOY, THE LIGHT IN YOUR EYES CONTAGIOUS / YOUR CAR SMELLED OF YOU AND WE ROLLED THE WINDOWS DOWN AND SANG TO ALL OUR FAVORITE SONGS AND THIS IS THE PART MY BRAIN PROJECTS ONTO THE SCREEN BEHIND MY EYES BECAUSE I CANNOT BEAR TO THINK TOO DEEPLY SONGS AND THIS IS THE PART MY BRAIN PROJECTS ONTO THE SCREEN BEHIND MY EYES BECAUSE I CANNOT BEAR TO THINK TOO DEEPLY ABOUT THE PART THAT CAME AFTER / WHEN WE GOT TO THE HOTEL, NICER THAN WHAT I KNOW WE CAN AFFORD, I SIMPLY CANNOT WAIT FOR TIME WITH A HAPPY YOU, WE GET SETTLED INTO OUR SUITE, AND YOU SAY YOU NEED A NAP FIRST BEFORE WE GO EXPLORING / I KNOW THIS PART, I KNOW THAT THE SWITCH HAS BEEN FLIPPED BUT WHAT CAUSED IT? WAS IT ME? DID I DO THIS? WHAT DID I SAY? WHAT DID I DO? BUT YES

OF COURSE YOU CAN NAP, IT WAS A LONG DRIVE, GET SOME REST, MOM! / BUT I KNOW WHAT COMES NEXT, AND DREAD POOLS IN MY GUT, MY VERY BONES TENSING, MIND READYING TO CURL IN ON ITSELF, THIS WAS ALWAYS TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE, YOU FOOL / YOU WAKE UP, YOU ARE CRYING, WHY DID YOU THINK THIS WOULD BE A GOOD IDEA? / WE SPEND THE NEXT TWO DAYS HOLED UP IN THIS HOTEL ROOM WHILE YOU FLOOD THE ROOM WITH SADNESS AND I BECOME A SHELL OF MYSELF / MY MIND REWINDS, CROPS OUT THE LATTER MAJORITY OF THE MEMORY, AND HOLDS TIGHT TO THE START OF IT INSTEAD / CANDIED, INDEED— A DELICATE, HAND-CRAFTED SELECTION OF THE MOMENTS THAT DON’T CAUSE THE INSIDE OF MY SKULL TO FIZZLE WITH WHITE NOISE

SEPTIC

RADICAL FURY MAKES A NEST IN MY LUNGS, SEPTIC AS IT SPREADS EATS ITS WAY UP MY THROAT BELEAGUERING ANY RATIONAL THOUGHT THAT BEGS TO EXCUSE YOU AND YOUR

CONTRARIAN MONOLOGUES WITH YOURSELF LAUGHABLE AMIDST THE DESOLATE MUSINGS THE TORN APART LIES, MISMATCHED UNTRUTHS WHICH HAVE LOST THEIR WAY CAUGHT IN A WEB OF YOUR OWN MAKING EVEN YOUR SHADOW LEAVES YOU BOTH YOUR SHADOW AND ME OR SO I’D LIKE TO THINK

SPLINTERED

TW: LOSS OF PARENT/ALLUSION TO SUICIDE HOW DARE YOU DISAPPEAR AND THINK THAT YOU WILL SIMPLY MELT FROM MY MIND LIKE BUTTER ON WARM TOAST. DID YOU THINK THAT I WOULD FORGET YOU SO QUICKLY? DID YOU BELIEVE YOURSELF TO BE BUT A SPECK OF DUST IN MY THOUGHTS? DID YOU TELL YOURSELF THAT I WOULD BE BETTER OFF WITHOUT YOU, WITHOUT A MOTHER? YOU MADE TO MIMIC THE WIND AND LEAVE SO QUICKLY THAT I WOULD WONDER IF YOU WERE EVER THERE AT ALL, OR JUST A FIGMENT. DID YOU NOT CONSIDER THAT THE GUST CAUSED BY YOUR LEAVING WOULD BRING MY HOME, ALL I HAVE KNOWN, OFF OF ITS FOUNDATION? THROWN INTO THE ETHER, TORN TO PIECES, SPIT BACK ONTO THE GROUND IN TATTERED SPLINTERS? DID YOU INTEND TO BRAID THOSE CRIMSON FRAGMENTS OF WHAT ONCE WAS INTO MY HEART? THAT IS WHAT YOU HAVE DONE HERE, THAT IS WHAT HAS HAPPENED.

CIGARETTE SMOKE RAIN FLOODS AN EMPTY MARKET, AND MUCK RISES FROM THE SEWERS, BIRDS ARE INVISIBLE IN THEIR NESTS AFTER BEING OBNOXIOUS ALL DAY, AND THERE'S A BOY WAITING AT THE STOP, AND HE'S GORGEOUS, MAYBE AN ACTOR WHO'S NOT DONE ASPIRING, BELIEF HAS YET TO ERODE HIS SPIRIT, AND SOME NICE WOMAN, OR ELDERLY MAN MIGHT TAKE HIM IN ON CHANCE, BUT NOT ME. THE BUS DRIVER HAS GONE HOME, WORRIED ABOUT THE RECENT SCAN OF HER GUT, AND SUMMER NO LONGER MEANS VACATION, A BREAK FROM TEACHERS' DANGEROUSLY BITTER FROM THE DREAMS THEY NEVER CHASED YET NEITHER FORGOT, AND A BOTTLE OF SHINE GLOWS IN THE BACK SEAT, BUT I DON'T HAVE ANYONE TO DRINK WITH; MY BOYFRIENDS HAVE DIED AND MY EX-GIRLFRIENDS ARE COMFORTABLE; MY FATHER IS STRUMMING HIS GUITAR AND TRAINS ARE STILL BEING RAIDED BY COWBOYS. MAY DECIDES MY FUTURE, JUNE IS A STALKER WHO READS MY POETRY, FOREVER IS JUST A DAY AGO, BUT AS OF NOW THINGS ARE TEMPORARY.

I LIKE OVERGROWN YARDS, CRUNCHY LEAVES THAT ARE NEVER SQUASHED, EVEN THE SMELL OF GASOLINE, WHICH EXPLAINS MY HEADACHES, AND FOR SOME REASON, BELIEVE IN ANGELS, DEMONS, EVEN THOUGH I'M FAITHLESS, AT TIMES, TURN ON THE NEWS AND THINK THE RAPTURE HAS ARRIVED. I'M AN EVANGELICAL, ABOUT WAVING RED FLAGS, AND AM DESPERATELY WAITING TO BE FIXED

BY SOMEONE WHO CAN'T CHANGE THEIR TIRES; GIVE EVERYTHING AND I'LL RETURN WITH NOTHING, BUT DON'T STOP ME FROM PLAYING THE LOTTERY; OUR MESSIAH HAS COME AT LAST.

MULTIFACETED, NATIONWIDE, OPERABLE

EXIT INTERVIEW TW: NSFW

DREAMLAND COFFEE ROASTERS CO. EXIT INTERVIEW PLEASE BRIEFLY EXPLAIN WHY YOU’VE DECIDED TO LEAVE DREAMLAND COFFEE ROASTERS CO.: MY MANAGER ASKED IF I WAS SINGLE. I SAID YES BECAUSE I WAS BORED, NOT BECAUSE IT WAS TRUE. I LIED AGAIN FOR THAT REASON WHEN SHE ASKED IF I WAS FREE THAT NIGHT; I BLEW OFF MY PLANS AND FOLLOWED HER TO A REMOTE DINER WITH STICKY MENUS AND HARSH LIGHTING, WHERE WE SAT IN A BIG RED BOOTH, EAGER AND THRILLED. SHE DRAGGED A FRY THROUGH KETCHUP AND EYED ME WITH FORCEFUL CERTAINTY BEFORE PAYING THE TAB AND LEADING ME TO A CHEAP, BLAND ROOM IN A SEEDY MOTEL OFF THE INTERSTATE THAT SMELLED LIKE CIGARETTES AND PLASTIC AND, ALTHOUGH WE RENDEZVOUSED IN SIMILAR ROOMS IN THE SAME MOTEL MORE TIMES THAN I CAN COUNT, I STILL CAN’T TELL WHETHER IT’S A NIGHTMARE WHEN I SEE IT IN MY DREAMS, THE DINER, ITS FRIES AND SHAKES, THEN SWEAT, SALIVA, BITE MARKS, AND COFFEE BREATH, SO CONSUMING AND FAMILIAR THAT I NEVER KNEW IF IT WAS HER BREATH OR MINE. THE END CAME FAST, AND I STARVED FOR WEEKS, CRAVING FRENCH FRIES AND COFFEE BREATH AND DRINKING ESPRESSO AT MIDNIGHT JUST TO FUCKING FEEL SOMETHING AFTER SHE LEFT WITHOUT A WORD FOR ANOTHER JOB—SHE WON’T RETURN MY CALLS, NOT EVEN WHEN I CRY AND SCREAM INTO HER VOICEMAIL THAT I’LL TELL HER HUSBAND AND KIDS ABOUT US; SHE PROBABLY KNOWS THAT’S JUST ANOTHER LIE, THAT I WON’T DO ANYTHING OF THE SORT, THAT I ONLY WANT HER TO ANSWER, TO ACKNOWLEDGE ME, TO SIT ACROSS FROM ME IN A BIG RED BOOTH AND LOOK AT ME LIKE SHE WANTS TO DEVOUR ME, BUT SHE WON’T. NOW I HATE DREAMING AND COFFEE AND SERVICING OTHERS, AND THAT'S WHY I’VE DECIDED TO LEAVE.

LOVING A GHOST TW: SUICIDE, NSFW

IN MY DREAM YOU ARE NOT DEAD. YOU ARE TOUCHING ME AND YOU ARE ALIVE AND YOU NEVER LEFT. YOU ARE STILL BREATHING. IN MY DREAM YOU NEVER LEFT. YOU RUN YOUR HANDS UP MY LEGS AS I LAY BACK. YOU TOUCH MY INNER THIGHS, PART MY LEGS. YOU ARE ALIVE AND EATING ME OUT—LIKE THAT ONE TIME, WHEN YOU MADE ME COME SO HARD I HOWLED, SAW STARS. WE ARE BOTH BREATHING. YOU ARE ALIVE AND YOUR ELEGANT FINGERS INSIDE ME AND YOUR MOUTH ON THE NUB OF MY CLIT AND YOU ARE BREAKING ME OPEN. IN MY DREAM WE ARE BOTH BREATHING. YOUR LONG ARMS ARE AROUND ME AND YOUR LONG FINGERS ALL OVER ME. YOUR COCK IS PUSHING UP AGAINST MY PANTIES—LIKE THAT ONE TIME, AT THAT PARTY, WHERE WE BORROWED SOMEONE’S BED AND FUCKED. YOU WERE GAZING INTO MY EYES AND FUCKING ME, AND THERE WERE TWENTY FRIENDS PARTYING NEARBY. IN MY DREAM YOU CAN’T WAIT TO GET MY PANTIES OFF ME, AND YOU PUSH THEM TO THE SIDE. YOU ARE NOT DEAD AND YOUR COCK IS PUSHING PAST MY PANTIES AND YOU ARE ENTERING ME. YOU ARE ENTERING ME AND WE ARE BOTH BREATHING. YOU SMELL LIKE HOME; STALE PBR AND CIGARETTE SMOKE AND THAT SLIGHT AMMONIA SCENT YOU ALWAYS CARRIED, LIKE YOU COULD NEVER GET TOTALLY DRY. YOU ARE WHOLE AND ALIVE AND SMELL LIKE HOME. YOU SMELL LIKE HOME AND I AM CRADLED IN YOUR MASS AND YOU ARE NOT DEAD. YOU ARE HOLDING ME AND WE ARE FUCKING AND MY ARMS ARE AROUND YOU, TOO. I KISS YOUR LIPS, SUCK YOUR MOUTH, BITE YOU. YOU TASTE OF DESPERATION AND BROKEN DREAMS. I KISS YOUR LIPS AND TASTE DESPERATION BUT YOU ARE STILL HERE, AND ALIVE, AND WHOLE, NOT MISSING HALF YOUR FACE AND ALL YOUR BREATH. YOU ARE WHOLE AND ALIVE, AND YOU TASTE OF DESPERATION. IN MY DREAM I SUCK THE DESPERATION OUT OF YOU, INVITE YOUR HEART TO REST IN MY HANDS, CHERISH IT AS YOU KISS ME. I SUCK YOUR DESPERATION OUT LIKE VENOM, TRYING TO HEAL THE HURT THAT YOU CARRY AROUND; A FAINT ACRIDITY. IN MY DREAM I AM SUCKING THE DESPERATION OUT, AND OUR LOVE HEALS YOU, AND YOU STAY INSTEAD OF SHOOTING YOURSELF IN THE FACE IN THE DARKNESS OF A COLD AND LONELY TEXAS NIGHT. YOU ARE WHOLE AND YOUR FACE IS INTACT AND YOU ARE FUCKING ME AND I AM SUCKING YOUR LIPS AND WE ARE BOTH BREATHING.

YOU ARE WHOLE, AND WE ARE BREATHING TOGETHER, AND YOU ARE FUCKING ME—LIKE THAT ONE TIME,ON THE FLOOR OF A FRIEND’S APARTMENT IN HOLLYWOOD, WHEN WE TRIED TO WAIT BUT COULDN’T. YOUR HANDS WERE ALL OVER ME AND YOUR SIZE ENGULFED ME AND I FELT SHELTERED BY YOUR BODY. ENCOMPASSED. YOUR HUGE HANDS AND YOUR 6’4 FRAME AND HOW YOU HELD ME CLOSE, LIKE I WAS A DELICATE THING, NEEDING TO BE PROTECTED AND CHERISHED. YOU ARE SHELTERING ME WITH YOUR BODY, AND I AM SUCKING THE DESPERATION OUT; WE ARE HEALING EACH OTHER AS WE MAKE LOVE. IN MY DREAM WE COME TOGETHER, AS I CRY WITH ASTONISHMENT AT THE WAVE OF LOVE ENGULFING ME; I ALWAYS LOVED YOU BEST, LOVED YOU MOST, LOVED YOU COMPLETELY. OUR LOVE ENGULFS US AND YOU DO NOT LEAVE. IN MY DREAM WE ARE BOTH BREATHING, BOTH WHOLE, BOTH ALIVE, AND YOU STAY WITH ME INSTEAD OF BLOWING YOUR BRAINS OUT IN A LONELY AIRBNB IN TEXAS.

BECOMING A DRAGON: A FAIRY TALE TW: SEXUAL ASSAULT, MURDER

ASLEEP IN MY BED, I WAKE UP TO HIM FUCKING ME. I HAD SAID YES TO SHARING OUR BODIES WITH EACH OTHER THE PREVIOUS NIGHT, BUT THERE’S BEEN NO NEGOTIATION ABOUT ANY ONGOING ENGAGEMENT. WE’RE NOT LOVERS; HE’S IN MY STUDIO APARTMENT BECAUSE HE’S MY LOVER’S FRIEND AND HE NEEDED A PLACE TO STAY. WE’RE BARELY EVEN FRIENDS, REALLY. BUT I‘M EASY, AND HE WAS IN MY BED, SO WHY NOT? BUT THAT WAS LAST NIGHT, AND CONSENT IN ONE INSTANCE DOES NOT CONFER CONSENT IN ANOTHER TIME AND SPACE. HE DOESN’T EVEN SEEK MY CONSENT THIS TIME. AND I’M ASLEEP, SO HOW COULD I GIVE IT? I FEEL CULPABLE IN MY OWN ASSAULT, HAVING LET HIM SHARE MY BED. I FEEL COMPLICIT. IN MY COMPLICITY, INSTEAD OF TELLING HIM TO STOP, I FREEZE. PRETEND TO STILL BE ASLEEP, FOCUSING ON THE RHYTHM OF MY BREATH, AND THE BRUISED RED INSIDE MY EYELIDS. HE CUMS IN ME. I’M SO SURPRISED I DON’T CALL IT RAPE FOR YEARS. BUT I AVOID HIM. AND MY LOVER DOESN’T GET WHY I’M MAKING “SUCH A BIG DEAL” OUT OF IT. AFTERALL, THIS “FRIEND” AND I HAD FUCKED THE NIGHT BEFORE, AND I HAD LET HIM SLEEP IN MY BED THE SECOND NIGHT. (IT WAS A STUDIO. WHERE ELSE WAS THERE FOR HIM TO SLEEP?) “AREN’T THOSE INVITATIONS?” MY LOVER ASKS. RED TINGES MY VIEW-FIELD AS I STUDIOUSLY IGNORE HIM. THE SHOCK OF THIS MOMENT ECHOES ACROSS TIME, FUTURE AND PAST. ALL OF THE VIOLATIONS WAKE UP IN ME: THE TIME THAT COKED-OUT ONE-NIGHT-STAND DROVE ME OUT INTO THE ISOLATED HILLSIDE INSTEAD OF TO A HOTEL, AND TOOK MY ASS IN THE DARK HEAT OF AN AUGUST NIGHT. THERE WAS NO ONE AROUND FOR MILES. I COUNTED MYSELF LUCKY EVEN THAT HE AGREED TO USE A CONDOM. THAT HE DIDN’T BEAT ME. THAT HE DIDN’T LEAVE ME FOR DEAD. THE TIME I LET AN ACQUAINTANCE FUCK ME IN THE ASS BECAUSE HE’D DRIVEN A LONG WAY TO SEE ME, AND MY ASS WAS WHAT HE WANTED, AND I DIDN’T HAVE THE STRENGTH TO SAY NO. I BECAME CELIBATE AFTER THAT FOR A WHILE BECAUSE I LACKED TRUST IN MY ABILITY TO OWN AND PROTECT MY BOUNDARIES. THE TIMES MY LOVERS ASSUMED MY CONSENT, AND FUCKED ME WITHOUT CARE FOR OUTCOMES.

LIKE A WALL OF INFINITE MIRRORS, THE ASSAULTS ITERATE INTO INFINITY, BEFORE AND AHEAD OF ME. WITNESSING INFINITE ITERATIONS OF ABUSE AND ASSAULT–NOT JUST MINE, BUT THE EONS OF IT, AGE UPON AGE–I BREATHE MYSELF INTO A FURY. THE PENT UP RAGE BECOMES FIRE IN MY LUNGS. AND BEFORE I KNOW IT, I’VE TRANSFORMED INTO A FIRE-BREATHING DRAGON. I RAISE MYSELF UP INTO THE AIR ON SEEMINGLY DELICATE GOSSAMER AND BLACK LEATHER WINGS. WITH A STRENGTH CONFERRED BY LIFETIMES OF BETRAYAL I LIFT MY NEWLY-ACQUIRED HEFT, MY SCALES OF ARMOR, AND FLY ABOVE THIS INFINITE TIMELINE OF BETRAYAL. AS I FLY ACROSS THE AGES, I BREATHE DOWN PLUMES OF RAGING-RED FIRE AND GLITTERING SMOKE, SMITING EACH ASSAILANT WHERE HE STANDS. ONE BY ONE, THEY TRANSFORM INTO INCONSEQUENTIAL VAPOR AND ASH. MY FIRE, RED AS BLOOD, SERVES AS A TRANSMUTATION, A CLEANSING, AN UNVEILING. A LIBERATION. WHEN MY WORK IS DONE, I FLY BACK TO THE PRESENT MOMENT. I BREATHE MY FLAMES BACK INTO WORDS; WORDS OF COURAGE, RESTING IN MY CHEST, READY FOR DEPLOYMENT. MY STRONG AND DELICATE WINGS CURL INTO MY BACK, BECOME BLACK LINES ON MY PALE SKIN, A SENSING SYSTEM, READY TO RAISE ME UP OUT OF DANGER’S WAY. THE GLOSSY SCALES SINK INTO MY FLESH, BECOMING A BARRIER BETWEEN MYSELF AND DANGER. I BREATHE INTO A DAWNING AWARENESS THAT I AM WHOLE AND PROTECTED. MY DRAGON-SELF EXISTS JUST BENEATH THE SURFACE, AND I AM SAFE IN MY SKIN, SAFE TO RECLAIM MY BODY. MY BREATH OF FIRE, RED AS LIFE, STANDS EVER AT THE READY. IN THIS EMPOWERMENT OF FIRE AND DRAGON STRENGTH, I AM FINALLY FREE TO EXPRESS MYSELF IN ALL THE WAYS I WISH. MY NO, RED AS FIRE, STANDS AS AN IMPENETRABLE BOUNDARY. IT BUILDS THE SPACE FOR A FULLY OWNED MAYBE. THIS NO CREATES THE POTENTIAL IN ME, FOR THE FIRST TIME, OF A FULLY-EMBODIED YES. THESE PERPETRATORS ARE ASH, AND I AM FREE. THIS DRAGON IS UNLEASHED.

THE CROSS

TW: SEXUAL ASSAULT, ABORTION

HE’S FUCKING ME ON THE FLOOR OF MY HOME OFFICE WHEN I NOTICE THE CROSS TATTOOED ON HIS BACK, LARGER THAN LIFE. I MEAN, THIS CROSS IS FUCKING HUGE. HOW DOES HE EVEN CARRY IT AROUND WITH HIM? THE CROSS GAINS A LIFE OF ITS OWN; IT FLOATS ABOVE US AND JUDGES OUR EXTRA-MARITAL COITUS. ALL ORNATE AND CARVEDLOOKING, IT’S ITS OWN PERSON; IT GROWS EYES AND FLAILS ITS ARMS AROUND WILDLY FOR A MOMENT. THE MAN ATTACHED TO THE CROSS POUNDS AWAY, PUMPING AND GROANING, UNAWARE THAT I’M MOMENTARILY TRANSFIXED BY THE CROSS HE CARRIES. WE’RE FUCKING AND IT’S JUST ANOTHER SUB-PAR LAY AND I’M FEELING UNSURE OF WHY I’M EVEN FUCKING HIM–MUCH LESS IN MY HOME OFFICE, AGAINST THE BASIC AGREEMENTS OF MY MARRIAGE–AND HIS CROSS IS DOMINATING THE MOMENT. THE CROSS GROWS A MOUTH AND SAYS, “YOU ARE THE TEMPTRESS IN THE GARDEN,” AS THE MAN WHO IS FUCKING ME STEALTHS ME, REMOVING THE CONDOM WITHOUT MY AWARENESS OR CONSENT. HE CUMS IN ME AS HIS CROSS LOOKS ON WITH DISDAIN. WEEKS LATER, I HAVE AN ABORTION WITHOUT THE MAN’S AWARENESS OR CONSENT. NO CONTACT, NO DISCUSSION AT ALL. BECAUSE FUCK THAT GUY. AND FUCK THAT ASSAULT. AND FUCK THE CROSS HE RODE IN ON.

ARACHNID-EGGPLANT ATTACK AT TACO CART DURING THE AURORA BOREALIS TW: DEATH, SPIDERS

THE SKY OVER TACO CART ON I-9 GLOWS IN PINK AND GREEN. SOLAR STORMS ON THE SUN’S SURFACE EMIT CLOUDS AND ELECTRIFIED CHARGED PARTICLES THAT COLLIDE WITH THE EARTH, CAPTURED IN THE MAGNETIC FIELD. BELOW, CROWDS OF PEOPLE GATHER IN FARM FIELDS, IN YARDS, TO WATCH THIS SPECTACLE, THE AURORA BOREALIS. AN EMPTY FIELD, ADJACENT TO TACO CART HOLDS AN EXPERIMENT A SECOND-GRADER STARTED: A HYBRID PURPLE EGGPLANT SEED THAT GROWS TO ITS FULL SIZE UNDER THE SPECTACULAR GLOW. THERE’S ALSO THE RED WIDOW SPIDER, AN “EXOTIC PET” THAT ESCAPED. MOSQUITOS, FEASTING ON THE PLANT ARE THE RED WIDOW SPIDER’S OPPORTUNITY. THE SPIDER BITES DOWN, EMITS POISON, JUST AS THE SPARKS FROM THE ELECTRONS RAIN DOWN, FUSING THE SPIDER TO THE FLESH, AND THEY GROW BIGGER TOGETHER, NURTURED BY STREAMS OF LIGHT. ~ IN A TOWNHOME OFF THE FREEWAY, NOT FAR FROM TACO CART, KAYLEE AWAKENS TO DISCOVER SHE’S SLEPT THROUGH THE AURORA BOREALIS. “HOW COME WE MISS EVERYTHING?” KAYLEE SAYS TO HER ROOMMATE, CATRINA. CATRINA KNOWS BETTER THAN TO SHOW HER THE PICTURES SHE’S BEEN ADMIRING ON THE INTERNET—ALL THE COLORS THAT MELT INTO ONE ANOTHER LIKE COSMIC DISCO LIGHTS. “WE NEVER MISS WORK,” CATRINA SAYS. BUT INSIDE, CATRINA KNOWS THAT HER ROOMMATE, AND BEST FRIEND SINCE GRADE SCHOOL, WANTS TO MAKE A DISCOVERY — SEE SOMETHING NEW — DO SOMETHING INCREDIBLY AMAZING — NOT WAKE UP AND WORK EVERY SHIFT AT TACO CART. ~ IN THE FIELDS BEHIND TACO CART, THE EGGPLANT SPIDER CREATURE UNFURLS ITS LEAVES, SOAKS IN THE SUNLIGHT, EXTENDS RUNNERS. THE COLLAR-LIKE GROWTHS AT THE TOP SPREAD TO REVEAL AN ARACHNID-LIKE FACE WITH RED EYES. THICK POISON SEEPS FROM LARGE OFFSHOOTS, HAVING FEASTED THE NIGHT BEFORE. A CREATURE NOT PREVIOUSLY KNOWN TO THE PLANT-MONSTER SLEPT AT TACO CART OVERNIGHT. THE PLANT CREPT, POKING ITS SPIDER-FACE NEAR WINDOWS, REACHING THROUGH A CRACK IN THE SIDING, FEASTING ON A HOST DRESSED IN A MANAGER’S UNIFORM—TOO HIGH OR DRUNK TO REALLY CARE.

A STRANGE, BURNT ODOR, PHOSPHOROUS IN NATURE, BUT IRON-LIKE AS WELL, GREETS KAYLEE AND CATRINA WHEN THEY WALK THROUGH THE FRONT DINING ROOM OF TACO CART. “DID SOMEONE LEAVE THE GRILL ON?” KAYLEE ASKS. CATRINA INVESTIGATES, BUT FINDS NOTHING OUT OF THE ORDINARY—EXCEPT FOR THE GREASE LEFT ON THE COUNTERTOPS. “I SWEAR, DOUG DOES NOTHING. HE CLOSED LAST NIGHT AND DIDN’T EVEN WIPE ANYTHING DOWN.” KAYLEE REACHES FOR A STACK OF PAPER CUPS. “LET’S JUST MAKE FIESTA FURIOSA SLUSHES.” CATRINA TURNS ON THE MACHINE, WHICH GRINDS TO A START. THEY FILL THEIR CUPS AND CLINK THEM IN A TOAST TO THE UNWRITTEN BENEFITS OF WORKING A TACO CART JOB. KAYLEE DOWNS HER SLUSH, REVELS IN A BRAIN FREEZE, AND HEADS FOR THE WALK-IN REFRIGERATOR, WHERE SHE FINDS A PAIR OF LEGS STICKING OUT FROM THE WALL. “DOUG! GET UP!” DOUG, THE MANAGER, STRUGGLES TO STAND AND HOLDS ONTO THE LEDGE OF THE PREP COUNTER. “QUIT BEING SO USELESS,” HE SAYS, ADJUSTING HIS BELT, WHICH HAS COME UNDONE. “QUIT BEING SO DAMN CREEPY AND WIPE DOWN THE GRILL. WE’VE GOT TACOS TO SLING,” CATRINA SAYS, WALKING OVER FROM THE SLUSH MACHINE. DOUG STARES AT THE TWO OF THEM AS IF HE’S NEVER SEEN THEM IN HIS LIFE. HE LOOKS THEM OVER, GIVES THEM A CONDESCENDING SMILE, AND GOES OUTSIDE WITH A PACK OF CIGARETTES. “OKAY, DOUG IS TRASH, BUT HE’S EVEN TRASHIER TODAY,” KAYLEE SAYS. “I KNOW. LIKE, DID YOU SEE HIS FACE?” “IT WAS GREEN! I MEAN, I HAVEN’T SEEN THAT KIND OF GREEN SINCE BECKY PARBORG BARFED UP A CAN OF PEAS IN THE CAFETERIA DURING THE SECOND GRADE.”

“EXACTLY! I WAS THINKING THE SAME THING.” “WELL, HE’S OUT OF HERE FOR NOW, WHICH MEANS WE CAN ACTUALLY DO OUR JOBS. I’LL START WIPING DOWN THE DINING AREA. YOU GET THE GRILL GOING.” KAYLEE HIGH-FIVES CATRINA AND GRABS A DISH RAG, BUT UPON CLOSER INSPECTION, SHE SEES THE TABLES ARE COVERED IN A THICK GRIME SHE’S NEVER SEEN BEFORE. SHE DECIDES SHE’LL NEED A SPATULA FIRST TO SCRAPE THE GUNK INTO A BUCKET, AND SHE’LL NEED TO WORK QUICKLY BEFORE THE CUSTOMERS COME POURING IN—ALL THE TRUCKERS AND TRAVELERS LOOKING FOR A QUICK, CHEAP MEAL WITHOUT ANY TROUBLE. CATRINA CHECKS THE PARKING LOT, WHICH IS QUICKLY FILLING. “DOUG!” SHE CALLS. “GET IN HERE. WE’LL NEED BACKUP, SO WE CAN GET THROUGH THE LUNCH CROWD QUICKLY.” THE BACK DOOR SLAMS OPEN, AND DOUG BREATHES HARD WHEN HE ENTERS. “I’M NOT DOIN’ SHIT!” HE SAYS. WHEN KAYLEE AND CATRINA LOOK AT HIM, THEY SEE HE’S OOZING A PURPLE, BLACK FLUID FROM HIS PORES, AND HIS EYES ARE RED. “DOUG. YOU DON’T LOOK SO GOOD,” KAYLEE SAYS. “MAYBE JUST GO HOME OR STAY OUT BACK.” DOUG CLENCHES HIS FISTS, LIKE HE’S GOING TO TAKE A SWING AT THEM, BUT HE GRITS HIS TEETH AND STOMPS OFF TO THE BACK DOOR WITH ANOTHER PACK OF CIGARETTES AND A DISTANT STARE IN HIS EYES, LIKE SOMETHING HAS GOTTEN INSIDE HIM, POISONED HIM SLOWLY, TURNED HIM INTO A ROTTEN SHELL OF A BEING. KAYLEE TAKES ANOTHER LOOK OUT THE WINDOW BY THE SIDE OF THE RESTAURANT AND IS STARTLED BY A FAT, WET, LEAFY VINE THAT SMACKS HARD AGAINST THE GLASS, CAUSING A SMALL CRACK TO RUN IN A THIN LINE. SHE CAN’T GO OUT FRONT TO INVESTIGATE. THEY’RE ALREADY A MINUTE LATE IN OPENING AND A LINE HAS FORMED AT THE DOOR. THE CUSTOMERS WILL BE ANGRY, SO SHE GOES TO THE BACK DOOR, WHERE SHE FINDS DOUG. HE WHIPS HIS HEAD AROUND TO LOOK AT HER IN A MOST UNNATURAL WAY.

HIS NECK SNAPS AND CRACKS AS HE STARES RIGHT THROUGH HER. TOO FRIGHTENED TO EVEN SPEAK TO HIM, SHE RUNS TO THE SIDE OF THE RESTAURANT, WHERE THE CUSTOMERS STILL CAN’T SEE HER—WHERE THERE’S NOTHING BUT A FIELD NEARBY, AND HER BREATH STOPS IN HER THROAT. SNAKE-LIKE COILS IN SHADES OF GREEN WAVE MENACINGLY IN THE AIR ABOVE HER, AND ROOTED AT HER FEET IS A PURPLE STALK, TALL, TOWERING ABOVE HER. THE CROWN OF LEAVES AT THE TOP BENDS CLOSER, AND TWO RED EYES, SURROUNDED BY SPIDER-LIKE LEGS, COME INTO VIEW. FANGS HANG JUST BELOW THE EYES, AND THE WHOLE THING DRIPS A GREASY SLUDGE. THE UNDERSIDE OF THE SPIDER’S ABDOMEN DISPLAYS A RED, HOURGLASSSHAPED SPOT. AND WHEN SHE LOOKS TO HER SIDE, WHERE THE BACK DOOR OF THE RESTAURANT SHOULD BE, SHE SEES DOUG, BOWING DOWN TO THIS THING—WHILE ITS VINES CRADLE HIS HEAD AND THE FANGS SINK FURTHER INTO HIS SKULL. WHEN IT FINISHES, DOUG’S BODY WITHERS—JUST THE SKIN—BURNS IN THE HOT SUN. THE VINES BRUSH ACROSS KAYLEE’S FOREHEAD, BEFORE THE ENTIRE CREATURE SLINKS OFF TO HIDE AMID THE CORN STALKS. “CATRINA! WE HAVE TO SHUT DOWN THE RESTAURANT TODAY,” KAYLEE SHOUTS. “DOUG’S GONE. THERE’S SOMETHING OUT THERE—SOMETHING HORRIBLE.” “THAT’S JUST LIKE DOUG TO LEAVE US, BUT HONESTLY, HE WASN’T MUCH HELP. WE’VE GOT TO OPEN. I’LL WORK THE CASH REGISTER, IF YOU COOK, AND WE’LL SWITCH OFF FOR THE DRIVE-THROUGH AND CLEAN-UPS IN BETWEEN. WE GOT THIS!” THE LAST THING KAYLEE WANTS TO DO IS KEEP WORKING. SHE’S STILL SHAKEN BY WHAT SHE SAW, BUT SHE CAN’T LET HER FRIEND DOWN. WHEN CATRINA RAISES HER HAND IN THE AIR, SHE MATCHES IT. THEY HIGH-FIVE AND SHOUT THE CHANT THEY MADE UP ABOUT THE HIGHEST-EARNING TACO CART LOCATION IN THE NATION—REMINDING THEMSELVES THEY ACHIEVED THIS HONOR PRACTICALLY ON THEIR OWN. BUT SHORTLY AFTER KAYLEE UNLOCKS THE DOORS, THE CUSTOMERS LUMBER IN WITH DAZED LOOKS IN THEIR EYES. THEY ORDER TACOS, BURRITOS, FIESTA FURIOSA SLUSHES, BUT THEY ONLY TAKE A BITE AND THROW THE REST ON THE FLOOR. “WHAT’S GOING ON?” CATRINA WHISPERS TO KAYLEE, WHO IS BROWNING THE GROUND BEEF ON THE GRILL.

KAYLEE LOOKS OUT AT THE FRONT DINING ROOM TO SEE ALL THE CUSTOMERS TURNING THAT SAME MYSTERIOUS SHADE OF GREEN, THEIR EYES GLOWING RED. “WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE!” KAYLEE SAYS. CATRINA DOESN’T WANT TO LEAVE HER POST. THEY’VE MADE A NAME FOR THEMSELVES WITH THIS TACO CART JOB—MAYBE NOT A BIG ONE—MAYBE NO ONE ELSE CARES THAT THEIR STORE IS THE HIGHEST RATED—BUT THERE’S SOMETHING TO BE SAID FOR A SENSE OF PRIDE. BUT IF THE CUSTOMERS DON’T EVEN CARE, WHAT’S THE USE? “I GUESS,” CATRINA SAYS, AS SHE CLOSES THE REGISTER. THE CUSTOMER IN FRONT OF HER THROWS SOME CHANGE ON THE COUNTER, SPEWS SLUDGE, AND LUMBERS FOR THE SIDE DOOR THAT EMPTIES INTO THE FIELD. KAYLEE PUSHES CATRINA IN THE DIRECTION OF THE BACK DOOR BEYOND THE WALK-IN REFRIGERATOR, WHERE THEY CAN GET INTO THEIR CAR AND DRIVE AWAY. AS THEY LOOK BACK, THEY SEE THE ARACHNID-EGGPLANT CREATURE, WAVING ITS VINES ABOVE THE FREEWAY, EMPTYING CUSTOMERS OF LIFE AND BLOOD, DISCARDING THEIR BODIES INTO THE FIELD. A LITTLE BOY, PROBABLY IN SECOND GRADE, STOPS TO TAKE PICTURES FROM A SAFE DISTANCE, PULLS A HALF PACKET OF SEEDS FROM HIS POCKET, STARES AT THEM AS IF HE CAN’T BELIEVE THAT SOMETHING SO SMALL COULD GROW TO CAUSE SO MUCH DAMAGE. ~ “LOOK!” KAYLEE SAYS, AS SHE PULLS UP ARTICLES AND VARIOUS WINDOWS ON HER LAPTOP COMPUTER AT HOME. “I THINK I KNOW WHAT CAUSED THIS—AND I THINK I KNOW HOW IT CAN BE REVERSED.” “I HOPE SO. LOOK AT OUR RATINGS ONLINE! PEOPLE ARE SAYING SUCH CRAP ABOUT OUR STORE—SAYING IT’S GREASY AND SMELLS BAD AND THE CUSTOMERS ARE ALL WEIRD.” “DURING THE AURORA BOREALIS LAST NIGHT, THERE WAS ENOUGH COSMIC ENERGY IN THE UNIVERSE TO CREATE SUDDEN GROWTH SPURTS. EGGPLANTS DON’T BELONG IN CORN FIELDS, BUT SOMEONE PUT ONE IN THERE—AND YOU KNOW HOW PEOPLE GET EXOTIC ANIMALS ALL THE TIME?”

“YEAH—REMEMBER WHEN JEREMY KEPT AN ALLIGATOR IN HIS BATHTUB AND WE ALL HAD TO KEEP IT A SECRET BECAUSE HE DIDN’T WANT HIS MOM KNOWING?” “EXACTLY! BUT THIS WAS A RED WIDOW SPIDER. I NOTICED A RED HOURGLASS-SHAPED SPOT ON ITS ABDOMEN AND MATCHED ITS IDENTITY ONLINE. TYPICALLY, RED WIDOW SPIDERS AREN’T VERY POISONOUS FOR PEOPLE—BUT DURING A COSMIC CATASTROPHE, IF IT FEASTS ON SOMETHING LIKE THE FLESH OF AN EGGPLANT, IT’S GOING TO GET BIG—REALLY BIG AND SUPER POISONOUS.” “SO WHAT DO WE DO?” “IT’LL ALL REVERSE ON ITS OWN DURING THE NEXT AURORA BOREALIS, WHICH IS TONIGHT. THE SAME ENERGY THAT BROUGHT IT INTO BEING WILL DESTROY IT IF IT DOESN’T TAKE SHELTER. IN THE MEANTIME, WE HAVE TO KEEP CUSTOMERS AWAY FROM TACO CART. THEY KEEP CONGREGATING THERE—IT’S LIKE THIS THING HAS A MAGNETIC PULL OR SOMETHING. ALSO, WE CAN’T GET BITTEN BY ONE OF THE CUSTOMERS, OR WE’LL BE INFECTED.” KAYLEE AND CATRINA PINKY SWEAR THAT THEY’LL KEEP TACO CART SAFE—AND THE CUSTOMERS AWAY—WITHOUT GETTING BITTEN. ~ THE EGGPLANT WITH THE SPIDER HEAD HAS ALREADY CLAIMED THE ENTIRE INTERIOR OF TACO CART WHEN KAYLEE AND CATRINA ARRIVE JUST BEFORE THE DINNER RUSH. THEY SEE ITS VINES POKING THROUGH THE WINDOWS AND DOORS. ITS HEAD STICKS THROUGH THE ROOF, SPIDER LEGS WAVING. THE CUSTOMERS ARE POURING IN FROM THE FREEWAY BECAUSE THIS GIGANTIC CREATURE HAS DONE MORE TO ADVERTISE THE RESTAURANT’S PRESENCE THAN THE SUNSET LOGO AND CACTUS SIGN THAT REACHES OVER THE FREEWAY. NOW THAT SIGN IS ENCASED IN LEAVES THAT BREATHE AND SWEAT—AND A SPIDER FACE POKES OUT OVER TOP. KAYLEE FINDS A HOSE HOOKUP IN THE BACK, AND CATRINA FOLLOWS HER WITH BUCKETS OF SPIDER REPELLANT THEY MADE OF PEPPERMINT AND CEDARWOOD OIL. FOR HOURS, THEY SPRAY CUSTOMERS WITH THE REPELLANT, BUT MORE KEEP COMING, AS THEY RUN DANGEROUSLY LOW ON SUPPLIES. “WHEN’S THE AURORA BOREALIS AGAIN?” CATRINA ASKS.

“TECHNICALLY, IT’S HAPPENING NOW, BUT WE WON’T REALLY SEE IT FOR AT LEAST ANOTHER HOUR.” WHEN THEY MIX UP THE LAST BUCKET OF REPELLANT FROM THE SUPPLIES ON HAND, KAYLEE AND CATRINA EMPTY IT ON A FLEET OF TRUCKERS, AND THEN WAIT INSIDE THEIR CAR. THEY ONLY HAVE TO HANG ON ANOTHER HALF HOUR AT THIS POINT, BUT THE CROWD IS GROWING THICKER, AND PEOPLE ARE POUNDING ON THE WINDOWS OF THEIR CAR. AT 11:20 P.M., THEY WATCH THE LIGHTS GO OUT AT TACO CART AS IT LOSES POWER. AT 11:25, A THICK SLUDGE STREAMS FOR THE CAR, AND BY 11:28, KAYLEE AND CATRINA ASSUME THEY’RE GONERS. BUT AT PRECISELY 11:30 P.M., THE ARACHNID-EGGPLANT CREATURE LETS OUT A LOUD BELLOW UNDER A SHOWER OF THOUSANDS OF STARS. THE SKY ERUPTS IN OMBRE SHADES OF PURPLE, GREEN, AND BLUE, WHILE THE CREATURE TWISTS AND BURNS, EXPLODING INTO MILLIONS OF PIECES, WHICH DISSIPATE INTO THE AIR. KAYLEE TAKES OUT HER PHONE AND AIMS IT TOWARD THE BRILLIANT SKY, SATISFIED THAT FOR ONCE, SHE HASN’T MISSED OUT ON ANYTHING.

MILLIONS & AN INCH TW: EATING DISORDIER, BODY ISSUES

SWEAT DRY

THRU

A FULL

OBLIVION

–BODY

MIND

AN IMPRESSIVE LOATHING

SOAKED / BONE & UNFEELABLE SERVICE SPIRIT & CAPACITY FOR DEEP SELF-

I KNOW IT DOESN’T ADD UP, BUT I GOTTA ADMIT TW: EATING DISORDIER, BODY ISSUES

I FEEL LIKE GRIME BETWEEN YOUR CREASES, THE GREASES TICKING DOWN YOUR TIME. POOLED SLIME TRIPPING UP YOUR PRICKLED TONGUE LIKE UNDERNOURISHED RHYMES— COOKED-OFF MEALY MUSCLE LIGHTLY TOSSED WITH ROTTEN, WEEKS-OLD LIES.

CLASSIC EGG & CHICKEN TW: EATING DISORDIER, BODY ISSUES

UP TO GREASY ELBOWS DEEP INSIDE MY SHARPLY CLENCHING THROAT— GASPING, CHOKING, THEN TRANSCENDING THIS PALE PINK FORM INTO A GOOEY GREEN GHOST.

SUZIE WITH AN UZI II TW: VIOLENCE, NSFW

PREVIOUSLY: MY NAME IS SUZIE. THE YEAR WAS 1998. I WAS SERVING IN THE US MARINES, WHEN MY HUSBAND-TO-BE WAS SACRIFICED IN SOME DUMB ARSE VOODOO RITUAL WHICH OPENED UP A TIME PORTAL! I TRIED TO STOP THE CEREMONY, BUT I FELL THROUGH. NOW, I’M HERE, THE OLD WAY OUT WEST. COWBOY TOWN. SMASH CUT TO TITLE SUZIE WITH AN UZI II TWO YEARS LATER: A GLORIOUS BRASS BAND OPENS US UP TO THE WIDE WESTERN PLAINS (IN COLOUR) AS A DISTANT LONE FIGURE TRAVELS ACROSS THE SCREEN ON HORSEBACK. ACT ONE: THE BAR FIGHT INT, SALOON - NIGHT THE SPURS OF THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER CLICK AND CLACK AGAINST THE FLOOR OF THE SILENT GAWPING SALOON. THE STRANGER LEANS ONTO THE BAR, REMOVING THEIR DUSTY BANDANA AND STETSON. UNDER THE DUST IS SUZY. THE COWBOYS AND THE COWWHORES ALL GASP. “THE BISEXUAL BANDIT” MUTTERS A GRIZZLY OLD MAN. “THE BISEXUAL BANDIT” SWOONS A MAID. SUZIE GRABS A BOTTLE OF WHISKEY AND DOWNS IT. IN A CORNER A MAID BRINGS THREE POKER PLAYING COWBOYS MORE BOOZE. ONE OF THE COWBOYS GROPES THE WOMAN’S BREASTS, “WELL LOOK AT THESE THEM HERE TITTIES!” THE MAID PLEADS WITH HIM TO STOP, BUT HE DOES NOT. SUZIE FROWNS, SLOWLY UNCLIPPING THE BUCKLE OF HER HOLSTER.

THE MAID IS TRYING TO PUSH AWAY, BUT THE BASTARDS HOLD IS TOO TIGHT “I’M GOING TO RUB MY FACE IN THEM” AND THEN: KA-BAM!.

SUZIE SHOOTS THE HANDSY COWBOYS HANDS CLEAN OFF. HE SCREAMS AT HIS SPIRTING STUMPS RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT SUZIE SHOOTS HIM IN THE HEAD TURNING HIS FACE INTO A BLOODY MUSH. THE SALOON TURNS TO SUZIEE WHO’S DEFIANTLY HOLDING A SMOKING UZI. SUZIE THROWS THE BLOOD COVERED MAID A WINK, THEN THE SALOON COMES BACK TO LIFE IN A MASS OF CHATTER AND JAUNTY PIANO TUNES. THE BLOOD COVERED MAID HANDS SUZIE ANOTHER BOTTLE, THEY BOTH SMILE THANKING ONE ANOTHER. “THE NAME’S MARY-JANE” SAYS MARY-JANE. “THE NAME IS FANTANO BONER!” BURSTING INTO THE SALOON IS A FUMING COWBOY DRESSED IN BLACK, “YOU KILLED MY BROTHER GOD DAMN IT! NOW, I’M GUNNA KILL YOU!” DECLARES FANTANO BONER. SUZIE CLUTCHES HER UZI, “YOUR BROTHER NEEDED TO LEARN SOME MANNERS”.

“MA BROTHER WAS A SAINT, NO WAY YOU COULD HA’ BEATEN HIM IN AN HONEST TO GOD DAMN FIGHT!” BONER IS HOLDING A BOOK BOUND IN FLESH. SUZIE GLARES AT IT. “YOUR BROTHER WAS A SHIT-EATING MISOGYNIST” “YOU CALLIN’ HIM A SAUSAGE SMUGGLING QUEER?” SUZIE PICKS UP HER HAT AND HEADS TOWARDS THE DOORWAY, “OUTSIDE FANTANO” ACT TWO; THE DUEL

EXT. A DUST BALL RAILWAY TOWN - HIGH NOON THE SUN IS UP HIGH IN THE SKY. AT THE FAR END OF THE STREET IS THE MISOGYNIST HOMOPHOBIC COWBOY FANTANO, WE JOIN OUR HERO SUZIE AT THE CLOSE END. TIME STANDS STILL, ALL BUT FOR A SINGLE TUMBLE WEED. MARY-JANE, THE MAID FROM THE SALOON, SMILES EAGERLY, WAITING FOR A SHOT. SUZIE AND FANTANO GLARE AT ONE ANOTHER, TRYING TO PREDICT ONE ANOTHER, UNTILBOOM! THE PAIR SHOOT AT EXACTLY THE SAME TIME, THE TWO BULLETS GLIDE SLOWLY THROUGH THE AIR AT TREMENDOUS SPEEDS UNTIL THEY MEET, HITTING, COLLIDING, EXACTLY HALF WAY BETWEEN THE TWO OF THEM. KLA-BOOM! THE DUST CLOUD CLEARS TO REVEAL FANATANO HOLDING THE FLESH BOUND BOOK, INSERT: OF A MAN IN BLACK ROBES IN AN ANCIENT TEMPLE, HE IS HOLDING THE BOOK AND A BLOODY KNIFE ABOVE SUZIE’S HUSBAND-TO-BE (AS SEEN IN THE FIRST FILM).

FROM OUT OF THE BUILDINGS, APPROACHES THE SHERRIFF AND HALF A DOZEN MORE MEN, THE ALL-MALE TOWN AUTHORITY. SUZIE REMEMBERS THE BOOK: BOUND IN MEN’S FORESKINS, IT IS THE DICK-RONOMICON! THE SOURCE OF ALL HETEROSEXUAL WHITE MAN’S POWER. “YOU GUYS ARE MISOGYNIST CULTISTS! THE VERY SAME THAT KILLED MY HUSBAND-TO-BE IN PARIS, IN 1998, THEN SENT ME HERE!” – “HAHA, THE VERY SAME!” CACKLES HIGH PRIEST FANTANO BONER. SUZIE EYES UP THE MEN FOLK AND IN A MEDITATED SWEEPING MOVEMENT RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT SHE GUNS DOWN THE WHOLE SHITTING BUNCH OF THE PATRIARCHAL FUCK-TARDS.

THAT IS, ALL BUT FOR FANTANO, WHO IS CHARGING OUT OF TOWN ON HORSEBACK! SUZIE WHISTLES FOR HER HORSE YIK-YAK TO ATTEND HER. “NEIGH!!” YIK-YAK RUNS BY AND SUZIE JUMPS ON HER EFFORTLESSLY, “YAH-YIK-YAK-YAH!” ACT THREE: THE CHASE EXT, ON TOP OF A CIRCUS TRAIN – DAY A RILED UP FANTANO SHOTS OFF AT SUZIE FROM THE ROOF OF THE STEAM TRAIN. BANG – BANG – BANG – BANG BUT BEFORE HE COULD FIRE SUZIE LEAPS FROM YIK-YAK ONTO THE ROOF OF THE TRAIN, RATTAT-TAT! GROUPS OF MISOGYNIST COWBOYS CLIMB FROM THE WAGONS UP ONTO THE ROOF. BONER CONTINUES TO UNLOAD, “THE FUTURE IS MALE YOU FLAT BREASTED WHORE! I FORESEE AN AMERICA WHERE THE WORLD IS FREE OF WOMAN, AND ONLY MAN IS LEFT!” BLOOD SPRAYS ACROSS THE TRAIN AND OVER SUZIE’S FACE TAT-TAT-TAT AS SUZIE GUNS DOWN MORE OF THE COWBOY CULTISTS. ONE COWBOY GETS UP CLOSE HE’S BRANDISHING A KNIFE WITH A HANDLE SHAPED LIKE A PENIS. IN FACT, ALL THE COWBOY’S WEAPONS LOOK PENIS-EY. SUZIE KICKS THE KNIFE WIELDER IN THE NUTS YANKING THE KNIFE FROM HIM. SHE TAKES THE COWBOY BY THE SHOULDER AND SHOVES THE KNIFE UP HIS PENIS HOLE. AND THEN! “WO-WO-WO-WO!” COMING UP ALONGSIDE THE TRAIN, THE SHOUTS AND CRIES OF AN APACHE TRIBE BRANDISHING BOWS AND ARROWS. SUZIE LOOKS TO THE CHIEF DISTINGUISHED BY HIS FEATHERS, “CHIEF! WILL YOU HELP ME?” “YES OF COURSE SUZIE” RESPONDS THE CHIEF IN A QUESTIONABLE ACCENT, HIS HORSE LEAPS ONTO THE ROOF OF THE TRAIN. MIRACULOUSLY. SOMEHOW. RIDING WITH HIM IS MARY-JANE, THE MAID FROM THE SALOON. THE CHIEF CONTINUES “WE NATIVE AMERICANS BELIEVE IN THE EQUALITY OF ALL PEOPLE; BLACK OR WHITE, GAY OR STRAIGHT, CIS OR TRANS, EVERYBODY. EVERYONE BUT THE SWEDES”.

SUZIE AND THE CHIEF HIGH-FIVE, “I HEAR THAT!”.

A COWBOY CULTIST ATTEMPTS TO ATTACK MARY-JANE, BUT SHE PUNCHES HIM IN THE HEAD, KNOCKING HIM OFF THE TRAIN AND SHATTERING HIS ARSE. SUZIE GUTS A CULTIST WITH THE PENIS KNIFE, THEN GUNS DOWN ANOTHER. THE CHIEF BATTLES BRAVELY BUTCHERING THE CULTISTS WITH AN AXE, AND MARY-JANE FIGHTS STRONG WITH A WINCHESTER RIFLE AT SUZIE’S SIDE. THE THREE FIGHT THEIR WAY THROUGH IN A SPECTACULAR DANCE OF BLOOD AND DEATH. UNTIL ONLY FANTANO BONER IS LEFT. “LET’S TANGO FANTANO” IN FRONT OF HER, FANTANO DUEL WIELDS TWO SIX SHOOTER PENIS PISTOLS. HE SHOOTS OPEN A HATCH IN FRONT OF SUZIE, FROM WHICH BURST TWO TIGERS! CACKLING THE MISOGYNIST HOMOPHOBIC HIGH PRIEST RUNS OFF FURTHER DOWN THE TRAIN. THE TIGERS BARK AND SNARL AT SUZIE, THEN ONE OF THEM LEAPS! “KA-BAM! YOU STRIPY BASTARDS!” SPITS SUZIE AS SHE GUNS DOWN ONE OF THE TIGERS. “KA-BOOM TIGER-MAN-BITCH!” SPITS MARY-JANE GUNNING DOWN THE SECOND. WHHOOWHHOOP! THE TRAIN WHISTLE BLOWS. THE BRIDGE CROSSING THE CANYON IS INCOMPLETE AND THE TRAIN IS GOING TOO FAST! “NO WOMEN, OR NO APACHE, GUNNA TAKE ME! WE’RE THE PATRIARCHY!” A PROUD BONER EJACULATES. “SUCK ON MY BLOODY PUSSY!” SUZIE LEVELS HER GUN TO FANTANO. TAT-TAT-TATBUT A JOLT IN THE TRACK- SUZIE ONLY HITS HIM IN THE ARM, SENDING HIM FLYING OFF THE TRAIN. THEN- THE TRAIN WHISTLE BLOWS. THEN- THE CHIEF GULPS. THEN- MARY-JANE FALLS INTO SUZIE’S ARMS. THEN- THE TRAIN FALLS. EXPLODING AS IT HITS THE BOTTOM OF THE CANYON.

ACT FOUR: RETRIBUTION INT. WOODEN CABIN - NIGHT THE SNOW WHISTLES AROUND THE OLD REMOTE CABIN. “AND THAT WAS THE LAST ANYONE EVER SAW OF SUZIE WITH AN UZI” RECALLS OLD MAN FANTANO BONER SITTING BESIDE A SMALL STOVE FIRE, WITH HIS GRANDSON LITTLE TIMMY BONER. “SHE DIED?” ASKS A BROKEN LITTLE BONER. “WELL, SOME SAY, SHE STILL TRAVELS THE WEST, HELPING THOSE WHO NEED IT MOST WITH HER HORSE YIK-YAK, AND HER WIFE MARY-JANE. THE MAID AT THE SALOON.” “DO YOU THINK IT IS TRUE GRANDPA?” ASKS LITTLE BONER. “WHO KNOWS, MAYBE BOY. MAYBE.” BESIDE OLD MAN BONER IS A MAN IN AN ASH WOOLEN SUIT. HIS FACE IN THE SHADOWS. LITTLE TIMMY BONER CANNOT SEE THE MAN. OLD MAN BONER IS WELL AWARE OF HIS PRESENCE. THE MAN COMES OUT FROM THE SHADOWS TO FACE OLD MAN BONER, “MY NAME IS MR. REAPER”.

STARING INTO MR. REAPERS EMPTY EYE SOCKETS “I FIGURED”, REPLIES OLD MAN BONER. “YOUR TIME HAS COME”, CONTINUES MR. REAPER THROUGH HIS LIPLESS JAWS. “YOU KNOW…” OLD MAN BONER ADDS, “I FIGURED THAT TOO”.

LITTLE BONER TURNS TO THE DOOR, THERE IS MOVEMENT OUTSIDE. “NOT LONG NOW”, MR. REAPER EAGERLY RUBS HIS HANDS. BANG! THE DOOR BURSTS IN. OLD MAN BONER STANDS UP TO ATTENTION, PUSHING LITTLE BONER AWAY.

IN THE DOORFRAME, THROUGH THE FALLING SNOW APPEARS THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. “YOU FOUND ME THEN” OLD BONER STATES, RECOGNIZING THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. “YEP.” REPLIES THE STRANGER. “YOU’LL BE HERE TO KILL ME?” ASKS OLD MAN BONER. THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER WALKS INTO THE LIGHT, REMOVING THEIR BANDANA. IT IS OLD LADY SUZIE WITH HER UZI, READY AND BRANDISHED. “YEP”.

“YOU’LL SPARE MY GRANDSON?” ASKS THE SHIVERING OLD BONER. “I’LL LET HIM LIVE” – “TIME” WHISPERS MR. REAPER. SMOKE RAISES FROM THE BARREL OF THE UZI, UP AROUND THE WRINKLES OF OLD LADY SUZIE’S FACE. OLD MAN BONER FALLS TO THE GROUND, AND FANTANO BONER WALKS AWAY LED BY MR. REAPER. AN ASTONISHED LITTLE BONER WEEPS, “YOU’RE HER… YOU’RE SUZIE”. OLD LADY SUZIE PUSHES PAST THE BOY AND PICKS UP THE DICK-RONOMICON FROM A SHELF. “GRANDPA… WAS A BAD MAN?” ASKS THE KID. “YEP” AND WITH THAT, OLD LADY SUZIE DISAPPEARS INTO THE SNOW. OUTSIDE, OLD LADY SUZIE HUGS OLD LADY MARY-JANE. OLD LADY MARY-JANE DOES NOT LOOK SO JOYOUS, “THE BOOK CAN TAKE YOU HOME” SHE MUTTERS. “IT COULD, BUT WHY WOULD I WANT THAT?” OLD LADY SUZIE THROWS THE DICKRONOMICON INTO THE AIR AND SHOOTS THE BOOK, OBLITERATING IT. “WHEN HOME IS RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME” OLD LADY SUZIE SLOPPILY KISSES OLD LADY MARY-JANE ON THE LIPS. SUZIE AND MARY-JANE RIDE OFF INTO THE SNOW, UNDER AN ECHOING CHOIR, AS THEY HEAD OFF TO COUNTLESS MORE ADVENTURES.

INTIMACY

WHEN HE WOKE, HE REALISED THAT HE MUST HAVE FALLEN ASLEEP WITH THE LIGHT ON. AND WITHOUT GETTING UNDRESSED. HE HAD BEEN READING. HE HAD BEEN LYING ON THE SOFA, WHICH WAS TO BE HIS BED, HAD PULLED HIS HOODIE DOWN OVER HIS EYES AND NOSE AND FALLEN ASLEEP. THERE WERE THREE BEDROOMS IN THIS HOUSE. MICHAEL AND JANET HAD THE ONE DOUBLE, NATURALLY.

LIZ

AND

HANNAH

WERE

SLEEPING

TOGETHER

IN

THE

OTHER.

THAT

ARRANGEMENT AND ITS POSSIBLE ALTERNATIVES HAD OCCASIONED SOME RIBALDRY EARLIER IN WHICH ROBERT HAD NOT JOINED. AND THERE WAS NO REAL BED AT ALL IN HIS ROOM, SO HE HAD HAD TO LIE DOWN ON THIS LUMPY THING WITHOUT ANY SHEETS EVEN. HE WAS ALREADY WELL AWARE THAT HE HAD BEEN INVITED MAINLY SO THAT THE WEEKEND’S RENT COULD BE DIVIDED BY ANOTHER SHARE. DID MICHAEL AND JANET PAY ONE SHARE OR TWO? DID YOU PAY BY THE HOUSEHOLD? HE HAD NOT BEEN TOLD. MAYBE YOU SHOULD PAY BY THE BED. HE PEERED DOWN FROM UNDER HIS HOOD AT HIS OWN HAND FRAMED IN THE BRIGHT LIGHT. HE DRUMMED HIS FINGERS. THEY LOOKED ABNORMALLY CLEAN TO HIM, A LITTLE UNMANLY. YOU PICKERS AND STEALERS, HE SAID TO THEM. HE HAD DRUNK TOO MUCH OF COURSE. MORE THAN A BOTTLE OF WINE? NEVER TWO. HE HAD DRIBBLED A LITTLE AND HE COULD FEEL THAT THE WINE HAD POOLED IN ONE CORNER OF HIS MOUTH AND DRIED INTO RED CRUMBS WHICH HE NOW RUBBED AWAY. HE HAD NO NOTION OF THE TIME. HE WORE NO WATCH AND HIS PHONE WAS DOWNSTAIRS REPLENISHING ITS BATTERY. HE WANTED A GLASS OF WATER AND HIS BLADDER WAS FULL. HE HAD AN IDEA THAT HE HAD BEEN WOKEN BY A DREAM, BUT HE BRUSHED THAT AWAY. THE LOO WAS DOWNSTAIRS AND, OF COURSE, THE KITCHEN. THERE WAS A BATHROOM UPSTAIRS AND NO DOUBT THAT HAD A LOO IN IT, BUT HE DIDN’T WANT TO MAKE TOO MUCH NOISE AND WHAT NOISE HE DID MAKE HE WANTED TO MAKE IN PRIVATE. THERE WAS ALWAYS THE CHANCE THAT HE WOULD OPEN THE WRONG DOOR. HE HAD TAKEN OFF HIS SHOES. HE DID NOT SWITCH ON THE LANDING LIGHT, UNDERESTIMATING THE COMPLEX GEOGRAPHY OF THIS SMALL BUT ECCENTRIC BUILDING. THE HOUSE CREAKED LIKE A MAN O’ WAR, SUDDENLY FEELING ESPECIALLY WOODEN, A CRATE OF A PLACE. HE WAS UNSURE OF HOW LOUD HE WAS BEING. THESE NOISES MIGHT HAVE BEEN HAPPENING INSIDE HIMSELF.

THE HOLIDAY LET IS A NEUTRAL GROUND. IT IS NOT CLEAR WHO BELONGS WHERE AND WITH WHOM. THINGS ARE NOT FIXED. THERE WAS SOMETHING GOING ON HERE, IN THIS ONE. THERE WAS A CHARGE. STEPPING INTO THE UNCERTAIN LIGHT OF THE VERY EARLY DAWN FROM ONE SMALL HIGH WINDOW, HE FELT AS THOUGH HE HAD LAID DOWN A CARD BEFORE MAKING SURE OF EXACTLY WHAT WAS AT STAKE. THIS WAS PARTLY HIS READING; HAWTHORNE’S EARLY STORIES; THE TWO YOUNG WIDOWS LYING IN THEIR SEPARATE BEDS, LONGING AND CONJURING THEIR DEAD HUSBANDS FROM THEIR GRAVES. EROTIC AND CREEPY. SOME OF IT HIS DREAM. AND PARTLY HIS SENSE THAT SOMEONE WAS ALREADY AWAKE AND DOWNSTAIRS. WHO MIGHT THAT BE? LIZ. HANNAH. EVEN JANET. BUT THERE WAS SOMETHING ELSE, SOMETHING MORE DISTURBING THAN EXCITING. ENTERING AN ONLY SLIGHTLY FAMILIAR ROOM IN THE DARKNESS, ROBERT WAS AWARE OF THE FURNITURE IN IT, THE OTHER OBJECTS, AS FOREIGN, INIMICAL. HE FELT ALIEN THERE, LIKE A GHOST, AS IF THE ROOM WERE AWAITING OTHER PEOPLE WITH MORE VIVID CONCERNS THAN HIS. HE FELT INVISIBLE. HE WALKED INTO AN EMPTY ROOM AND IT STAYED EMPTY. GHOSTS FALL INTO ONE OF SEVERAL CATEGORIES, HE THOUGHT; THOSE THAT SEEK TO FRIGHTEN, THE VENGEFUL, THOSE THAT HAVE A MESSAGE, THOSE THAT WANT TO SHOW OFF AND THOSE THAT SIMPLY GO ABOUT THEIR BUSINESS LIKE OTHER NOCTURNAL ANIMALS. FOXES AND BADGERS. THOSE THAT WOULD REALLY LIKE TO EVADE YOUR ATTENTION COMPLETELY, WHO WOULD BE CONTENT TO HAUNT A VACANT HOUSE. ROBERT STOOD IN THE DOORWAY AND STARED INTO THE MAIN ROOM, WHERE THEY HAD DONE THEIR DRINKING, DARK WITH ITS THICK CURTAINS STILL DRAWN AND LOOKED HARD AND EAGERLY AT LIZ’S SCANDALOUS SILHOUETTE. SHE WAS FULLY DRESSED AND THAT DISAPPOINTED HIM AS LIZ TENDED TOWARDS THE SCANTY IN THE DRESS SENSE EVEN IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY. LIZ WAS LITHE, CERTAINLY ETHEREAL, ROBERT THOUGHT. ROBERT WAS INTERESTED IN LIZ. HE STOOD IN THE DOORWAY AND SAID NOTHING BECAUSE HE KNEW SOMETHING WAS AMISS. THERE IS A PLEASURE IN WATCHING WHILE REMAINING UNSEEN AND ROBERT WAS ALIVE TO THAT. BUT HE KNEW THERE WAS MORE IN IT FOR HIM TO DO NOTHING, TO ALLOW WHAT WAS HAPPENING TO HAPPEN, RATHER THAN TO PREVENT IT. LATER HE WOULD REFLECT THAT ALL THAT WAS REALLY NOT RIGHT, OTHERWORLDLY, ABOUT WHAT HE COULD SEE, WAS THAT LIZ HAD CHOSEN TO DO WHAT SHE WAS DOING IN THE DARK.

WATCHING HER UNWATCHED HIMSELF STIMULATED A MUCH MORE INTIMATE SENSATION, IN A MANNER OF SPEAKING, THAN, SAY, SOME INDECOROUS UNDRESS MIGHT HAVE ALLOWED. AN UNEXPECTED LIGHT, THE HEADLAMP OF AN EARLY CAR PENETRATING A CRACK BETWEEN THE CURTAINS, ILLUMINATED LIZ’S PALE FACE. SHE LOOKED DAMAGED, SUDDENLY BLINKING AT THIS INTRUSION AS THOUGH HER EYES WERE BRUISED. SHE WAS THIN-FEATURED BUT SEEMED NOW TO HAVE THE ROUND FACE OF AN ANXIOUS AND GREEDY CHILD. WHEN HE SAW THAT SHE WAS BEING FURTIVE, NOT WISHING TO BE OBSERVED OR DISTURBED, HE STRAIGHTAWAY THOUGHT THAT SHE MIGHT BE HURTING HERSELF BUT THEN COULD NOT THINK WHERE THAT IDEA HAD COME FROM. PERHAPS AN IDEA HE HAD ALREADY CONNECTED WITH LIZ. HE DID THINK THAT IF HE INTERVENED AT THIS POINT HE MIGHT SAVE HER FROM SOMETHING, BUT HE DID NOT WANT TO DO THAT. HE WANTED TO SHARE IN IT. LIZ WAS UNHOOKING HER HANDBAG FROM THE CORNER OF A CHAIR WHERE SHE HAD SLUNG IT LAST NIGHT AND THIS WAS COMPLICATED BECAUSE OTHER LONG-HANDLED THINGS WERE SLUNG THERE TOO (ROBERT’S BINOCULARS CASE, FOR EXAMPLE) AND THERE WERE COATS AND PERHAPS A CARDIGAN WHICH HE NOW REMEMBERED HE HAD ENJOYED WATCHING HANNAH STRUGGLE OUT OF AT ONE POINT. SHE GOT AT IT IN THE END, RUMMAGED, TOOK OUT A PURSE, WHICH UNFASTENED WITH A BRIGHT SNAP, REMOVED A NOTE, TEN POUNDS ROBERT GUESSED, AND SLIPPED THAT INTO THE BACK POCKET OF HER JEANS. BEFORE HE COULD ASK HIMSELF THE QUESTION WHY LIZ WAS DOING THIS NOW AND MOREOVER IN THE DARK, HE CAME UP WITH THE ANSWER. THAT WAS NOT LIZ’S HANDBAG, PURSE, TEN POUND NOTE. THEY WERE HANNAH’S. DID LIZ REALLY NEED TEN POUNDS SO BADLY AS THAT? WHY WAS SHE DOING THIS AMAZING AND AT THE SAME TIME BANAL THING? SHE KNEW SHE WAS SAFE FROM HANNAH BECAUSE SHE HAD LEFT THAT FRIEND ASLEEP IN HER BED. SHE MUST HAVE LEFT OTHER NOTES IN THE PURSE, SO SHE OBVIOUSLY EXPECTED THIS THEFT TO GO UNDETECTED. NATURALLY ROBERT BEGAN TO WONDER HOW LIZ REALLY FELT ABOUT HANNAH, THAT SLIGHTLY PRETTIER AND FRANKLY PLUMPER FRIEND OF HERS, INNOCENTLY ASLEEP. HOW WOULD LIZ FEEL LATER WITH HER ARM AROUND HANNAH’S WAIST AND HER TEN POUND NOTE IN HER BACK POCKET LIKE A TROPHY? MAYBE IT WAS JUST THAT THAT SHE WANTED, TO BE ABLE TO LOOK HANNAH IN THE EYES AND THINK, ‘I HAVE YOUR MONEY AND YOU DO NOT KNOW IT

,NO MATTER HOW CLEVER AND PRETTY YOU MAY BE.’ A KIND OF SPELL BEING CAST, POWER BEING GARNERED. ROBERT COULD STILL HAVE STEPPED IN HERE AND SAID WHAT NEEDED SAYING. AVERTED WHAT ALMOST FELT LIKE AN ACCIDENT. THAT HE DID NOT MEANT THAT HE HAD FAILED A TEST, OR EVADED A TRAP. MARTIN HAD CALLED THIS PLACE THE HOUSE OF FUN WHEN HE HAD SEEN ROBERT STANDING BETWEEN LIZ AND HANNAH. HE THOUGHT OF THAT NOW AS HE TURNED AWAY AND ASKED HIMSELF THE QUESTION, ‘HAD LIZ SEEN HIM? SEEN HIM WATCHING HER?’ IT SEEMED IMPOSSIBLE THAT SHE MIGHT NOT. ROBERT URINATED NOISILY IN THE BATHROOM UPSTAIRS AND WHEN HE PULLED THE CHAIN VICTORIAN PLUMBING SHOOK THE HOUSE. BACK IN HIS ROOM, HE THOUGHT ABOUT LIZ. ALL HE HAD HAD TO DO WAS FLICK THE LIGHT SWITCH AND EVERYTHING WOULD HAVE CHANGED. HE DISCUSSED THE MATTER WITH HIMSELF. HE ADDRESSED THAT SELF IN HIS HEAD THAT WAS ALSO HIMSELF. THIS IS WHAT IT MEANT TO ROBERT TO HAVE A PRIVATE LIFE. HE DID NOT HAVE TO DEFER TO ANYONE ELSE. THIS WAS ONE OF THE BENEFITS OF BACHELORHOOD. MAYBE WE COULD GO SHOPPING, SAID HANNAH. WINDOW SHOPPING, SAID LIZ, PATTING HER POCKET. IT WAS PAST TWELVE AND MARTIN AND JANET HAD YET TO EMERGE. THE SIZZLING SAVOUR OF BACON AND SAUSAGE HAD FAILED TO ROUSE THEM. THOSE TWO DON’T NEED ANY MORE AROUSING, SAID ROBERT AND LIZ AND HANNAH LAUGHED. STILL, IT WAS A BIT OF A BORE. ROBERT, LIZ AND HANNAH WOULD EXPLORE THE HIGH STREET IN AN OUT OF SEASON SEASIDE TOWN, FAMOUSLY QUIET EVEN IN SEASON, WHILE MARTIN AND JANET FUCKED ONE ANOTHER ALL DAY. IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THEIR PARTY. ROBERT HARDLY KNEW THESE WOMEN.

HANNAH DID HAVE MONEY. SHE COULD GO ALONG A ROW OF SHOPS LIKE A LITTLE GIRL ON AN EASTER EGG HUNT, AS THOUGH EACH SHOP CONTAINED SOME CUNNINGLY HIDDEN TREASURE AND THAT SHE COULD HAVE IT IF SHE FOUND IT FIRST. THAT YOU HAD TO PAY FOR EACH EGG WAS NOT A GREAT CONSIDERATION FOR HER, APPARENTLY. LIZ AND ROBERT DID NOT LOOK AT IT THIS WAY. THEY BOTH HOPED TO RETURN FROM THIS EXPEDITION HAVING BOUGHT NOTHING. THEY WALKED UP AND DOWN THE HIGH STREET DROPPING HANNAH INTO VARIOUS SHOPS AND PICKING HER UP AGAIN AS THOUGH SHE WERE THE BATON IN A RELAY RACE. SHE AMUSED THE TWO OF THEM. ROBERT TOLD LIZ ABOUT NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE (SHE HAD READ THE SCARLET LETTER BUT NO STORIES) AND SHE TOLD HIM FUNNY THINGS THAT HAD HAPPENED TO HER WHEN SHE HAD BEEN AT SCHOOL. THAT INCIDENT IN THE EARLY MORNING SEEMED LIKE A DREAM NOW, BUT HE WAS GLAD TO KNOW THAT THIS WAS NOT SO. IF LIZ THOUGHT THAT ROBERT HAD SEEN HER SHE DID NOT SEEM EMBARRASSED IN THE SENSE OF FEELING SHAME, SHE WAS MORE LIKE AN ACTOR JUST A LITTLE UNCERTAIN OF HER LINES AND NOT QUITE KNOWING WHAT TO DO WITH HER HANDS. ROBERT HAD CAUGHT HER OUT IN A MEANNESS, WHAT ANOTHER PERSON WOULD CALL A WICKEDNESS, AND WE ALMOST NEVER SEE THAT IN PEOPLE WHEN WE ARE ALL SO CONCERNED TO BE NICE. WAS LIZ A WICKED WOMAN? OF WHAT OTHER KIND OF WICKEDNESS MIGHT SHE BE CAPABLE? IF THEY WENT INTO A SHOP TOGETHER MIGHT SHE STEAL SOMETHING? EVEN BUYING SOMETHING WITH THE STOLEN MONEY WOULD BE STEALING. ROBERT HAD STOLEN A BOOK ONCE, IN RATHER A ROUNDABOUT WAY. T WAS ON AN OCCASION SUCH AS THIS, WHILE STAYING IN A RENTED, FURNISHED HOUSE, SOMEONE ELSE’S HOME, BY THE SEA. HE HAD PICKED UP A BOOK THAT HAD INTERESTED HIM AND HAD READ SOME OF IT IN BED EACH MORNING WHILE JENNIFER COOKED HIM BREAKFAST. IT WAS ONE OF THOSE NATURAL HISTORY MEMOIRS WRITTEN BY A MAN LOCAL TO THAT AREA WHO HAD COLLECTED BIRDS’ EGGS AND PICKED ORCHIDS IN THE FENS, IN AN ERA WHEN THAT WAS NOT CONSIDERED VANDALISM. THE BOOK WAS OF NO GREAT VALUE BUT PROBABLY QUITE DIFFICULT TO ACQUIRE AND ROBERT WANTED IT. HE FELT ALL BUT SURE THAT ITS REAL OWNER WOULD NOT MISS IT. SO, HE HAD LEFT IT ON THE BEDSIDE TABLE WHILE HE LET JENNIFER, OFFICIOUS AND EFFICIENT AS EVER, PACK UP THEIR ROOM. HE HAD KNOWN SHE WOULD PUT THAT BOOK IN HIS CASE AND SHE DID. HE HAD NEVER FINISHED IT AND DID NOT KNOW WHERE IT WAS NOW. HE HAD VERY LIKELY LENT IT TO MARTIN WHO NEVER RETURNED BOOKS.

HE FELT LIKE TELLING THIS TO LIZ TO SEE WHAT SHE WOULD SAY AND TO GIVE UP SOME OF THE POWER HE HAD OVER HER. THAT POWER WAS EXCITING, NOT AFFECTIONATE. BUT THIS WAS TOO POINTED A THING TO SAY TO HER. BESIDES, TELLING A WOMAN ABOUT YOUR OLD GIRLFRIENDS COULD ONLY MEAN ONE THING. AH, THE CHEMIST, SAID LIZ. I NEED TO GO IN HERE. SHE PAUSED AS THOUGH TO GIVE HER NEXT WORDS A CERTAIN WEIGHT. AND I DON’T HAVE MY MASK. I’LL GO IN FOR YOU. I DON’T THINK SO. COULDN’T I BORROW YOUR MASK FOR A MINUTE? WE COULD BUY YOU A MASK. JUST FOR A MINUTE? ROBERT HAD SEVERAL DISPOSABLE MASKS IN HIS BREAST POCKET, NONE OF THEM UNWORN. HE HANDED OVER THE LEAST CRUMPLED. AND YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO LEND ME A TENNER. JUST UNTIL WE GET BACK TO THE HOUSE. SORRY. HE IMMEDIATELY FELT INCLINED TO LIE JUST AS HE DID WHENEVER ANYONE ASKED HIM FOR MONEY BUT HE FOUND THIS TRANSACTION ENTICING AND GAVE LIZ A TEN POUND NOTE FROM THE POCKET WHERE HE KEPT HIS MASKS. I WON’T BE A MOMENT. SHE DID NOT EXACTLY THANK HIM. FOR THE FIRST TIME IT OCCURRED TO HIM THAT THIS MIGHT BE A PRACTICAL JOKE, THAT LIZ AND HANNAH WERE TEASING HIM. THEY COULDN’T HAVE PLANNED WHAT HAD HAPPENED IN THE NIGHT BUT THEY MIGHT BE ELABORATING ON IT NOW. WHEN LIZ EMERGED FROM THE CHEMIST’S NOT OBVIOUSLY CARRYING ANYTHING, ROBERT ASKED AND ONLY THEN DID SHE RETURN HIS NOTE ROLLED INTO A TUBE LIKE A CIGARETTE.

ROBERT NOTICED LIZ’S HANDS. THEY WERE THIN AND COLD-LOOKING, HANDS THAT WOULD AGE WELL BUT WHICH ALSO LOOKED QUITE OLD ALREADY. THEY WERE PRETTY HANDS AND THE NAILS WERE WELL CARED FOR, POLISHED BUT NOT COLOURED. SHE WORE A VERY THIN SILVER BAND ON HER RING FINGER ORNAMENTED WITH TINY STONES THAT WERE JUST BLUE. ROBERT SUGGESTED THEY GO FOR A DRINK AND, IN UNSPOKEN CONSPIRACY, THEY SLIPPED INTO THE PUB BEFORE HANNAH SHOULD REAPPEAR IN THE STREET. THEY SAT IN THE GARDEN ROUND THE BACK AND EACH HAD A PINT OF BITTER. LIZ LOOKED UNUSUALLY PETITE BEHIND THE TALL GLASS. HAIR OF THE DOG, SHE SAID. THEY SPOKE ABOUT MARTIN AND JANET AND ROLLED THEIR EYES. LIZ REMARKED ON HOW PRETTY HANNAH WAS. ROBERT SAID YES SHE WAS. HE WONDERED IF THE DIFFERENCES BETWEEN HANNAH AND LIZ DID NOT MAKE THEM SOMEHOW ADVERSARIES OF A KIND. THE FAT AND THE LEAN, ALTHOUGH HANNAH WAS NOT FAT. IS THAT WHY LIZ HAD STOLEN FROM HER? OR WAS IT A PETTY ACT OF REVENGE FOR SOMETHING DONE OR SAID, DONE OR SAID LAST NIGHT WHEN THE TWO OF THEM HAD SHARED A BED? THEY TALKED SOME MORE ABOUT EARLY AMERICAN LITERATURE AND LIZ WAS SURPRISED TO BE TOLD THAT HAWTHORNE AND POE HAD BEEN CONTEMPORARIES. LIZ HAD READ A LOT OF POE WITHOUT KNOWING HIS DATES, OR WITHOUT HAVING GIVEN THEM ANY THOUGHT. IT IS EASY TO IGNORE THE FACT, EVEN, THAT HE WAS AN AMERICAN, UNLESS YOU TAKE A PROFESSIONAL INTEREST. HE WENT TO SCHOOL IN STOKE NEWINGTON, SAID LIZ. HER FAVOURITE STORY WAS THE TELL-TALE HEART. THE MURDERER, SHE SAID, TURNS THE WORLD INTO A PUZZLE. THE ANSWER TO THE PUZZLE IS HIM. DO YOU THINK THAT’S WHY HE KILLS?

YES, SAID LIZ. THERE ISN’T ANOTHER REASON. YOU NEED A DETECTIVE. SOMEONE HAS TO ASK THE QUESTION, ATTEMPT TO SOLVE THE PUZZLE. A WHITE-FACED MAN APPEARED STANDING IN THE DARKENED DOORWAY OF THE PUB AND ROBERT THOUGHT OF HIMSELF STANDING ON THE THRESHOLD JUST A FEW HOURS EARLIER, LIKE A GHOST. THEY HAD BOTH THOUGHT, FOR A MOMENT, THAT IT WAS MARTIN, BUT IT WAS NO ONE. LIZ NIPPED TO THE LOO AND ROBERT THOUGHT OF HER STANDING ALONE IN THE DARK THAT MORNING, AS STEALTHY AS A CAT. SHE HAD HER PRIVATE SELF. SHE HAD NO NEED TO STAND IN THE LIGHT OF ANYONE’S APPROVAL. BEFORE THIS WEEKEND, ROBERT HAD ASKED HIMSELF IF HE LIKED LIZ, OR DID HE PREFER HANNAH. NOW HE KNEW HE WAS FALLING A LITTLE BIT IN LOVE WITH LIZ. THEY DID VISIT THE BOOKSHOP AND ROBERT BOUGHT LIZ A VOLUME OF HAWTHORNE’S STORIES WHICH SEEMED SUCH A LUCKY FIND EVEN THOUGH IT DID NOT INCLUDE THE WIVES OF THE DEAD AS WAS SO OFTEN THE CASE. HANNAH CAME TO THE BOOKSHOP TOO AND ROBERT WAS A LITTLE SHY OF BUYING LIZ A GIFT IN FRONT OF HER, BUT HE DID IT. IT HAD BECOME LIZ AND ROBERT NOW AND THIS MORNING, STANDING IN THE KITCHEN WITH THEIR CUPS OF COFFEE, IT HAD BEEN HANNAH AND LIZ, WHO AFTER ALL HAD SLEPT IN ONE BED TOGETHER. IF HANNAH HAD MISSED THAT TENNER, ROBERT THOUGHT, WHICH SHE CLEARLY HAD NOT, SHE WOULD HAVE BEEN ALMOST SURE THAT I HAD TAKEN IT. THEY STOPPED FOR A CUP OF TEA AND A CAKE AND LIZ PAID FOR ALL OF THEM WITH A CARD THAT SHE HAD SUDDENLY REMEMBERED. ROBERT ALMOST LAUGHED OUT LOUD. IT HARDLY SEEMED THAT LIZ COULD HAVE NEEDED THAT MONEY. IF THIS WAS A LOVE STORY IT WAS A MOST UNUSUAL KIND AND HE WAS SO BORED WITH THE USUAL KIND. THEY CIRCLED THE WAR MEMORIAL AND WONDERED AT THE NUMBER OF NAMES FOR SUCH A SMALL TOWN. THE GROUPS OF BROTHERS OR FATHERS AND SONS. IN THE MAIN PARK IN HANNAH’S HOME TOWN THERE WAS A MEMORIAL FOR PROTESTANT MARTYRS EXECUTED

BY BLOODY MARY. THEY AGREED THAT IT WAS HARD TO REALLY KNOW WHY THOSE PEOPLE HAD HAD TO DIE NOW.

THERE WAS AN OLD LADY BY THE MEMORIAL AND SHE WAS ADDRESSING A VERY SMALL CROWD ON THE SUBJECT OF SALVATION AND SIN. SHE WORE A BRIGHT YELLOW PLASTIC HAT, A SOU’WESTER, AS THOUGH SHE MIGHT HAVE BEEN A DEEP SEA FISHERMAN AND A CAPE, OF A SORT, OF YELLOW AND BLACK CHECKS. THEN ROBERT REMEMBERED HIS DREAM WHICH HAD BEEN OF A SIMILAR PERSON, WHO HAD NEVER ACTUALLY BEGUN TO SPEAK, BUT WHO HAD, IN PREPARATION FOR HER SERMON, GIVEN EACH OF HER AUDITORS A HOMEMADE LEAFLET IN THE SHAPE OF A BRIEF-CASE MADE OF CARDBOARD. YOU OPENED IT AND IN THE LID WERE FLAPS THAT YOU COULD RAISE AND READ QUOTATIONS WRITTEN THERE. ROBERT COULD NOT REMEMBER THESE BUT ONE HAD BEEN FROM NABOKOV AND ANOTHER FROM LORD DUNSANY. THE BRIEF-CASES HAD BEEN DECORATED WITH A YELLOW AND BLACK MARQUETRY. IF ONLY YOU COULD REMEMBER THE QUOTATIONS, SAID HANNAH. THEY COULD HAVE BEEN A MESSAGE, SAID LIZ. I HAVE NEVER READ A WORD WRITTEN BY LORD DUNSANY, SAID ROBERT. WHEN THEY GOT BACK TO THE HOUSE, THEY FOUND SOME EVIDENCE THAT MARTIN AND JANET HAD BEEN DOWNSTAIRS, BUT THEY HAD EVIDENTLY GONE BACK TO BED. WHILE ROBERT WAS IN THE KITCHEN, HE HEARD ONE OF THE WOMEN SAY, QUIETLY, SEX ALWAYS MAKES ME HUNGRY. BUT HE DID NOT KNOW WHICH ONE OF THEM IT WAS. THEY ALL DECIDED THAT A REFRESHING NAP WAS THE THING, ESPECIALLY AS RAIN THREATENED. ROBERT DID ALLOW HIMSELF TO HOPE THAT LIZ WOULD APPEAR IN HIS ROOM, BUT THAT WAS TOO MUCH. IT WAS POSSIBLE, HE THOUGHT, THAT THAT HAD BEEN LIZ’S TEN POUND NOTE ALL ALONG. IT WAS A LOAN AND HANNAH HAD BEEN SLOW TO PAY IT BACK AS RICH PEOPLE SOMETIMES WERE. HE REALISED HE WAS BEING UNCOMMONLY GENEROUS TO SOMEONE HE HAD CAUGHT STEALING. LATER, ROBERT SUGGESTED GOING FOR A WALK BEFORE IT GOT DARK. HANNAH STARED OUT OF THE WINDOW,

TOO WET, SHE SAID. THERE HAD BEEN A SQUALL AND THERE MIGHT BE MORE. I’LL COME WITH YOU, SAID LIZ. THAT WAS A GIFT AND IT FRIGHTENED ROBERT JUST A LITTLE BIT. HANNAH WAS PERHAPS BEING DIPLOMATIC NOW. HAD LIZ AND HANNAH TALKED ABOUT THIS? IT WAS NOT POSSIBLE TO GUESS WHETHER THEY WOULD HAVE DONE THAT, OR NOT. WHEN THEY HAD BEEN JOKING ABOUT MARTIN AND JANET JUST NOW LIZ HAD MADE SOME REMARK ABOUT SORENESS. ‘RUBBED RED RAW,’ IS WHAT SHE HAD ACTUALLY SAID AND HANNAH HAD INVOLUNTARILY PULLED A FACE. THAT HAD GONE TOO FAR FOR HER, BUT LIZ HAD GIGGLED UNREPENTANTLY AT HANNAH’S SQUIRM. ROBERT REALISED THAT HE MIGHT HAVE ONE DAY FOUND HANNAH A DULL COMPANION IN A WAY THAT DANGEROUS LIZ WOULD NEVER BE. IS THIS WHAT HE WANTED? IT STRUCK HIM THAT STEALING IS REALLY SORDID, EVEN WHEN THE THIEF IS PRETTY. IF LIZ WERE VICIOUS, MIGHT SHE NOT BE CRUEL? ROBERT MIGHT WANT SOMEONE MORE ORDINARY THAN LIZ. HE DISMISSED THE THOUGHT THAT SHE WAS ILL, BECAUSE THAT WAS A BORING IDEA. THEY STEPPED OUT INTO THE WET AIR AND IT WAS LIKE A NEW DAY. THEY WALKED BY THE RIVER AND HE HELD LIZ’S HAND TO HELP HER UP THE EMBANKMENT AND THAT WAS THE FIRST TIME THAT THEY HAD TOUCHED. HER HAND WAS VERY COLD AND HE DID NOT LET IT GO. SUCH COLD HANDS, HE SAID. YOU FEEL CLOSE TO SOMEONE WHEN YOU KNOW THEIR SECRETS, BUT THEY ARE NOT CLOSE TO YOU IF THEY DO NOT KNOW YOU KNOW. ROBERT WAS FAR FROM SURE HE COULD CALL LIZ BY A NAME SHE WOULD NOT ANSWER TO, TELL HER SOMETHING ABOUT HERSELF SHE WOULD NOT ADMIT WAS TRUE. HE HAD TO LET GO OF HER HAND TO SHOW HER HOW TO USE THE BINOCULARS. THERE WERE A LOT OF BIRDS ON THE EXPOSED MUD. THEY AGREED THAT SINCE THE VIRUS, PEOPLE HAD STOPPED TO TAKE IN SOME OF THE SIMPLER THINGS AROUND THEM. SOME PEOPLE. THEY WERE LOOKING MORE CAREFULLY NOW.

THEY SAW A SMALL WHITE HERON, A LITTLE EGRET, IN THE SHALLOWS, SOMETIMES TAKING A FALTERING STEP BUT MORE OFTEN STRIDING AND LIFTING A YELLOW FOOT CLEAR OF THE WATER EACH TIME. THE GOLDFINCHES AMONG THE SLOES WERE LIKE A LINE FROM A POEM. THEN A HAWTHORN ALIGHT WITH AN INCREDIBLE BURDEN OF FRUIT, THE TITS AMONG IT SEARCHING FOR INSECTS AND THE BLACKBIRDS HARVESTING THE ALMOST MEATLESS AND INDIGESTIBLE HAWS. THINGS SEEMED MORE BEAUTIFUL NOW. THE GREENSHANK WITH ITS MUDDY FEET AND THE GREY PLOVER LOOKING KIND AND SURPRISED. THE BIRDS JUST TAKE WHAT THEY WANT. THEY SEE SOMETHING AND THEY TAKE IT. THEY KISSED CHASTELY AND ROBERT FOUND LIZ’S HARD THIN LIPS TO BE LOVELY. IF LIZ HAD LET ROBERT SEE HER STEALING IN ORDER TO ALLURE HIM, MAD THOUGH THAT THOUGHT WAS, IT HAD WORKED. IF THAT HAD BEEN THE EFFECT, WHY SHOULD IT NOT HAVE BEEN THE PURPOSE? THIS IS NOT JUST FOR NOW, IS IT? LIZ ASKED. ROBERT SHOOK HIS HEAD. HE NEEDED TO GIVE BACK TO HER THE POWER HE HAD. MARTIN AND JANET APPEARED FOR DINNER. THEY BOWED THEIR HEADS LIKE SHEEP, BUT GRINNED LIKE WOLVES. THE WORLD HAD STOOD STILL FOR THOSE TWO ALL DAY. THEY HAD NO IDEA WHAT HAD GONE ON AROUND THEM. THE EVENING WAS COOL BUT DRY. THEY DID A LOT OF THEIR DRINKING OUTSIDE. THERE WAS A CIRCULAR TABLE MADE OF TWO GREAT WOODEN SPOOLS PLACED ON TOP OF ONE ANOTHER. IT WAS NOT REALLY A BARBECUE THEY WERE HAVING, MORE OF AN AL FRESCO FRY-UP. COULD YOU MANAGE ONE MORE SAUSAGE, JANET? LIZ ASKED. HANNAH SNORTED AND SPRAYED WINE DOWN THE WHITE TOP SHE HAD BOUGHT THAT MORNING. SERVES YOU RIGHT, SAID JANET. COOL AND SCOTTISH. THEY LOOKED AT THE STARS AND MARTIN SHOWED THEM HOW TO FIND THE NORTH STAR

BY EXTENDING ONE SIDE OF THE PLOUGH TO THE TAIL OF THE LITTLE BEAR.

THEY DRANK A LOT. DRANK TOO MUCH. THERE WAS A DARING TO IT, A DELIBERATE LETTING FALL OF INHIBITION. THEY WERE GIVING ONE ANOTHER EXCUSES. WHAT ROBERT WANTED WAS TO BE IN AS INTIMATE A RELATION AS HE KNEW THIS CONSTELLATION OF CIRCUMSTANCES COULD INSPIRE. HOW LUXURIOUS TO BE ABLE TO CONFESS A WICKEDNESS, ADMIT A SIN, BUT ONLY TO LIZ. A SPURT OF RAIN CAME BUT MERELY AS THOUGH SOMEONE HAD SMACKED A HAND PLAYFULLY THROUGH A FOUNTAIN IN THE PIAZZA. NONETHELESS, THEY WENT INSIDE AND ROBERT SAT WITH LIZ ON THE SOFA AND HELD HER HAND. HE WATCHED THE REFLECTION OF THE CANDLE FLAMES IN THE BLACK WINDOW AND SAW THEM AS BRIGHTER THAN THE REAL THING AND INVULNERABLE BECAUSE THEY COULD NEVER BE BLOWN OUT. WILL YOU GET MY BAG FOR ME, ROBERT, I LEFT IT OUTSIDE? OF COURSE. HE GOT UP CAREFULLY. NO MORE WINE TONIGHT. HE STOOD IN THE DOORWAY ONCE MORE, PUT HIS HAND ON THE JAMB AND WAS CONSCIOUS OF HOW HE LOOKED, STARING OUT OF THE ROOM THIS TIME. HE COULD FEEL WHY LIZ HAD NOT WANTED TO GET HER BAG HERSELF. THE BAG WAS ON THE TABLE LIKE SHE HAD SAID, A LONG-HANDLED THING DECORATED WITH MANY BEADS. THE COOL AIR FELT GOOD, BUT HE COULD NOT SAY IT SOBERED HIM. HE TRIED TO FIND THE NORTH STAR AGAIN BUT THERE SEEMED TO BE MORE STARS NOW. TOO MANY. HE HEARD A NOISE, A HARSH SINGLE BREATH THAT COULD HAVE BEEN A FOX OR A BADGER. ROBERT OPENED LIZ’S BAG AND TOOK OUT HER PURSE. HE THUMBED OPEN THE SINGLE STUD AND REMOVED FROM ONE OF THE MANY POCKETS THE ONLY NOTE THAT THE PURSE CONTAINED. HE HELD IT UP BEFORE HIS FACE. HIS WHITE HAND SHONE IN A SUDDEN LIGHT AND AS HANNAH CAME UP BEHIND HIM WITH HER, WE WONDERED WHERE YOU HAD GOT TO, HE LET THE NOTE FALL INTO THE DARKNESS AND THE DISTANCE.

WELCOME TO MY HAUNTED BROTHEL TW: NSFW, PROSTITUTION, DEATH

I AM THE MADAM. I PRESIDE OVER FIVE SPECTRAL GIRLS: SONJA, DUSTY, LENORA, ROSALINE, AND ANABELLE. I HAVE BEEN THIS BROTHEL’S MADAM SINCE MY DADDY DIED FORTY-FIVE YEARS AGO. WE ARE A FAMILY- OWNED BUSINESS, AND FAMOUS THE WORLD OVER AS THE ONLY HAUNTED BROTHEL IN EXISTENCE. I AM THE FIRST WOMAN TO OVERSEE IT SINCE ITS INCEPTION IN 1864, WHEN MY DADDY’S DADDY’S DADDY’S DADDY STRUCK UP A SMALL ENTERPRISE HUSTLING GIRLS ALONG THE WAGON TRAIN TO CHEYENNE. GREAT-GREAT GRANDDADDY WAS A GAMBLER — A POOR GAMBLER, AT THAT. PEDDLING TOOTHLESS WHORES WAS THE FIRST TIME THAT MAN EVER HAD TWO PENNIES TO RUB TOGETHER. COWBOYS ARE LONELY, AND GREATGREAT GRANDADDY MET THEIR DEMANDS HAND OVER FIST. HOWEVER, HE DIDN’T TRULY BEGIN MAKING MONEY UNTIL HE ACQUIRED HIS FIRST GHOST: SONJA. SONJA SONJA HAS BEEN WORKING FOR MY FAMILY SINCE THE 19TH CENTURY, SHE RODE IN A COVERED WAGON WITH MY GREAT-GREAT GRANDDADDY AND DIED IN A FOOLISH ATTEMPT TO FORD A RIVER. NOTHING MORE THAN ANOTHER SCANDINAVIAN SETTLER FLUSHED AWAY IN COLD MUCK WATER. TWO NIGHTS AFTER SONJA SUPPOSEDLY DIED, GREAT-GREAT GRANDDADDY AND THE SURVIVING GIRLS WERE SITTING AROUND THE CAMPFIRE SPOONING BEANS AND WHISKEY INTO THEIR MOUTHS WHEN SONJA RETURNED. A TRAIL OF PUDDLES DRIPPED BEHIND HER, AND HER SKIN WAS FLUSHED GRAY WITH RIVER SCUM. “KAN JAG ÄTA?” SHE ASKED, AND GREAT-GREAT GRANDDADDY MOVED OVER TO MAKE ROOM. THE BEANS DROPPED RIGHT THROUGH SONJA’S FLESHLESS GULLET, BUT GREAT-GREAT GRANDDADDY DIDN’T HESITATE PUTTING HER TO WORK. SONJA’S REGULARS SAY THEY LOVE HER BECAUSE SHE SQUIRTS THICK AND SLOW, LIKE TOOTHPASTE FROM A TUBE. THE BEST CUSTOMER SONJA EVER HAD LOST HIS VIRGINITY TO HER IN 1932, DIED IN HER ARMS IN 1999, AND CAN STILL BE SEEN VISITING HER ON FIELD TRIPS FROM HEAVEN. “BUT, MADAM,” SAYS THE TOURIST — THE FIRST TIME VISITOR TO MY HAUNTED BROTHEL, WHO HAS HEARD OF MY SULTRY SPECTERS BUT HAS YET TO SAMPLE FOR THEMSELVES. “IS SLEEPING WITH A GHOST EVEN POSSIBLE?”

OF COURSE IT’S POSSIBLE, BUT THE EXPERIENCE DIFFERS DEPENDING ON HOW THE GIRL DIED. SONJA ISN’T FOR EVERYONE, SOME FIND HER A SMIDGE TOO PLAIN. WHAT DO YOU LIKE? DUSTY DO YOU WANT AN ANGRY GIRL? A GIRL WHO WILL SLAM UP AND DOWN ON YOUR COCK? DUSTY’S PERFECT FOR YOU. SHE DIED IN 1969. DUSTY WAS OBLITERATED BY A METEORITE WHILE OBSERVING THE MOON THROUGH HER BACKYARD TELESCOPE, TRYING TO CATCH A GLIMPSE OF NEIL ARMSTRONG AND BUZZ ALDRIN IN THEIR SPACESUITS. NOW SHE IS THE METEORITE. LENORA DO YOU WANT A SUBMISSIVE GIRL? BECAUSE LENORA WILL BLUSH AND MEWL FOR YOU LIKE IT’S HER FIRST TIME — EVEN THOUGH SHE’S BEEN OCCUPYING MY THIRD FLOOR ROOM SINCE THE 1950’S AND HAS LEFT MANY OF MY CUSTOMERS STAGGERED AND SATISFIED. LENORA DIED OF HUMILIATION, HER DADDY WALKED IN ON HER PLEASURING HERSELF AND SHE JUST SHRIVELED UP AND DIED RIGHT THERE. ROSALINE A FARM GIRL. ROSALINE WAS PECKED TO DEATH BY A CHICKEN. IF YOU LIKE QUICK HANDJOBS, THE HARD TYPE WHERE THE GIRL HAS A VICE GRIP ON YOUR PECKER AND JERKS UP-DOWN-UP-DOWN-UP-DOWN, THEN ROSALINE IS FOR YOU. DON’T ASK HER FOR BLOWJOBS. ASK ANNABELLE. ANNABELLE ANNABELLE WAS MY ONLY FLESH AND BLOOD GIRL TO BRING IN AS MUCH MONEY AS THE GHOSTS. SHE ARRIVED AT JUST THE RIGHT TIME. IT HAD BEEN AN AGE SINCE WE ACQUIRED A NEW GIRL AND BUSINESS WAS GROWING STALE, THE CUSTOMERS GROWING BORED OF THE GHOSTS AND THEIR INCORPOREAL BOSOMS, NO GOOD FOR GRIPPING OR SQUEEZING. MY DADDY WAS ONLY TWO YEARS DEAD, I WAS PULLING MY HAIR OUT OVER FINANCES WHEN ANNABELLE CAME ALONG — ALL BLONDE BOUFFANT AND PERKY TITS, DONE UP IN RIBBONS AND PINK TAFFETA, CUTE CLAMSHELL CUNT SALIVATING BETWEEN THIGHS THAT SPREAD EASY AND TASTY AS STRAWBERRY JAM.

ANNABELLE ATE UP ALL OF THE ATTENTION, TOOK MONEY AWAY FROM MY GHOSTS’ EVERSATED MOUTHS. “IT’S JUST UNTIL I SAVE UP ENOUGH MONEY FOR A BUS TICKET TO NEW YORK,” ANNABELLE PROMISED, “MY AUNTIE LIVES THERE, AND I’M GOING TO SING ON BROADWAY.” IN A YEAR AND A HALF, ANNABELLE’S POPULARITY SAVED THE FAMILY BUSINESS, AND SHE PUT ASIDE ENOUGH MONEY TO ACTUALLY LEAVE ME, PURCHASING A ONE-WAY BUS TICKET AS A BIRTHDAY PRESENT TO HERSELF. I’D ONLY JUST PAID BACK MY DADDY’S DEBTS, I WAS HALFWAY THROUGH BUILDING AN ADDITION ON THE SECOND FLOOR, AND THERE WAS THE BAD PLUMBING IN LENORA’S ROOM THAT NEEDED FIXING, HER ECTOPLASM ALWAYS SOAKED THROUGH THE FLOOR AND PLOPPED ONTO THE HEADS OF CUSTOMERS SITTING AT THE BAR. I LOCKED ANNABELLE IN HER ROOM WHILE SHE WAS PACKING HER BAGS. SHE POUNDED ON THE DOOR, BELLOWED AND CRIED, AND TRIED TO ESCAPE THROUGH THE WINDOW, BUT I WASN’T GOING TO LET THE FAMILY BUSINESS END WITH ITS FIRST MADAM. “ANNABELLE,” I TOLD HER, “YOU’VE MISSED YOUR BUS, MIGHT AS WELL JUST GIVE IT UP.” AND SHE DID. ANNABELLE STOPPED ALL HER POUNDING AND CURLED INTO A HEARTBROKEN BABY DOLL ON THE FLOOR, TOO HUNGRY TO EVEN SIT UP. NOW, ANNABELLE GOBBLES COCK WITH MORE GREED AND MORE DESPERATION THAN ANY GIRL IN THE HOUSE. HER PRETTY, PINK PUSSY GOES TO WASTE FOR HER MOUTH’S NEEDS, JIZZUM DROPPING FROM HER BOTTOMLESS GULLET AND TRAILING ON THE HARDWOOD FLOORS AS SHE HAUNTS THE HALLWAYS. WELCOME TO MY HAUNTED BROTHEL

THE TRUTH SEEKERS TW: DEATH

‘HEY EVERYBODY, THIS IS HUGH FROM THE TRUTH SEEKERS!’ THE TALL MAN DRESSED IN A HEAVY YELLOW WINTER COAT SAID TO A HANDHELD CAMERA. ‘TODAY, WE’RE LOOKING INTO THE MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF HIKERS ON THEIR WAY TO THE SUMMIT OF HORNELL’S PEAK.’ HUGH GRINNED AND THEN TURNED THE CAMERA TO SHOW HIS TEAM. ‘I’M HERE WITH GEFFROY, MARNIE AND DARREK. GEFFROY AND MARNIE BELIEVE PARANORMAL ACTIVITY IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MISSING HIKERS. BUT DARREK AND I THINK THERE IS A MORE RATIONAL EXPLANATION. SO TODAY, WE FIND OUT FOR SURE WHO’S RIGHT!’ HUGH HANDED THE CAMERA TO MARNIE, A SHORT BLONDE GIRL WITH A RED SCARF WRAPPED AROUND HER NECK. SHE ALSO WORE A BLACK POLAR COAT AND MATCHING HAT. ‘AS YOU KNOW, HORNELL’S PEAK HAS SEEN A SPIKE IN DISAPPEARANCES IN RECENT YEARS. IS THE NUMBER OF MISSING HIKERS ON THE RISE, OR ARE MORE PEOPLE ATTEMPTING TO SCALE THE TREACHEROUS MOUNTAIN? IS PARANORMAL ACTIVITY AT PLAY, OR MAYBE IT’S SOMETHING MORE NATURAL CLAIMING THE CLIMBER’S LIVES?’ SHE LOOKED INTO THE CAMERA WITH A RAISED EYEBROW, PAUSING FOR EFFECT. ‘HIT THE LIKE BUTTON AND SUBSCRIBE TO FIND OUT WHO WILL WIN! COMMENT BELOW IF YOU THINK THE DISAPPEARANCES ARE SUPERNATURAL OR IF NATURE AND POOR PREPARATION ARE TO BLAME. DARREK?’ MARNIE PASSED THE CAMERA TO THE TALL MAN IN A RED WINTER COAT. HIS CURLY BLOND HAIR SPILT OUT FROM UNDER HIS YELLOW TOQUE MARKED TRUTH SEEKERS. ‘AT THIS POINT, I’D LIKE TO SUGGEST A HYPOTHESIS. THE MELTING SNOW, OR PERHAPS THE INCREASED RISK OF AVALANCHES AND POOR PREPARATION ON THE HIKERS’ PART, CONTRIBUTED TO THE DISAPPEARANCES. LUCKILY, WE HAVE-’ CRACK! ‘WOAH, THE GROUND IS SHIFTING,’ EXPLAINED DARREK EXCITEDLY, HIS EYES WIDE AND A GRIN PLASTERED ON HIS FACE. HE AIMED THE CAMERA AT THE SNOW-COVERED GROUND, ZOOMING IN. ‘THIS DOESN’T CONFIRM ANYTHING, BUT ALL THINGS BEING EQUAL, IT APPEARS THAT UNSTABLE-’

‘‘STOP!’ CRIED MARNIE. ‘DON’T MOVE!’ DARREK STOOD STALK STILL. HE PAUSED THE CAMERA, STUFFED IT IN HIS JACKET POCKET, AND TURNED BACK TO FACE THE REST OF THE CREW OF THE TRUTH SEEKERS. ‘I THOUGHT YOU DUG THE TRENCH HIGHER UP IN THE MOUNTAIN, GEFFROY,’ SAID DARREK, TAKING A DEEP BREATH IN PREPARATION FOR THE SHORT FALL HE WOULD ENDURE. GEFFROY HURRIEDLY UNLOOPED A THICK CLIMBING ROPE FROM HIS BELT. ‘I DID! THIS ISN’T US. JUST DON’T MOVE,’ HE ANSWERED IN A PANICKED TONE. HE HANDED THE ROPE TO MARNIE, AND SHE TIED IT AROUND HER WAIST, PASSING THE OTHER END TO HUGH, WHO TIED IT TO THEIR HARNESSES. THEN, HUGH THREW THE END OF THE ROPE OVER TO DARREK. SHIFTING HIS WEIGHT TO CATCH THE ROPE, THE GROUND GAVE WAY BENEATH DARREK’S FEET. ‘SHIT!’ DARREK’S HEART ROSE INTO HIS THROAT AS THE GROUND BENEATH HIM SUDDENLY DISAPPEARED. HE FLAILED IN FEARFUL SURPRISE AS HIS ONE-DAY SURVIVAL TRAINING RUSHED THROUGH HIS MIND. THOUGH DARREK KNEW BETTER, HE STILL TRIED TO GRAB ONTO PROTRUDING SHARDS OF ICE AND ROCK AS HE FELL. FINALLY TUCKING HIS CHIN TO HIS CHEST AND COVERING HIS HEAD WITH HIS ARMS, HE BRACED FOR THE IMPACT. THE IMPACT PUSHED THE AIR OUT OF HIS LUNGS WITH AN AUDIBLE OOF. FROM ABOVE, THE TRUTH SEEKERS SHOUTED HIS NAME IN ALARM, AND A CORD DANGLED AROUND FIVE METERS ABOVE HIM. SPRAWLED ON HIS BACK, DARREK BLINKED ONCE, THEN TWICE, UNTIL THE AIR FINALLY RUSHED TO HIS LUNGS, AND HE WINCED IN PAIN. IN THE BESTCASE SCENARIO, THE FALL BRUISED HIS RIBS. ‘UH…I’M OKAY, I THINK,’ SAID DARREK AS HE STARED AT HIS ENTRY POINT. ‘THE FALL WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A FEW MORE YARDS NORTH-EAST. YOU GOOD, BRO?’ ASKED HUGH FROM THE OPENING. DARREK WOULD KNOW IF ANYTHING WAS BROKEN WHEN HE TRIED TO SIT UP, BUT FIRST, THE WORLD HAD TO STOP SPINNING. INHALING DEEPLY AND PREPARING FOR THE INEVITABLE PAIN, HE SLOWLY PUSHED HIMSELF INTO A SITTING POSITION. HIS HEAD WAS THROBBING. RUBBING THE BACK OF HIS NECK WITH ONE HAND, HE GROANED. HIS BODY WAS SORE, AND HIS HANDS BLED FROM TRYING TO GRAB ON TO PROTRUSIONS DURING HIS FALL. THIS IS GOING TO HURT TOMORROW, HE THOUGHT.

LOOKING UP, HE ESTIMATED HIS FALL TO BE AROUND TEN TO FIFTEEN METERS. DARREK COULD SEE THE CLEAR BLUE SKY ABOVE. HIS EYES FOCUSED ON A DANGLING RED AND BLACK ROPE FAR TOO SHORT FOR HIM TO REACH. ‘I’M ALL RIGHT,’ SHOUTED DARREK TO HIS EXPEDITION, ‘I SEE THE ROPE, BUT I CAN’T REACH IT.’ ‘WE’RE RADIOING BASE CAMP FOR HELP. DON’T WORRY, DARREK, WE’LL GET YOU OUT,’ SHOUTED GEFFROY. ‘AWESOME!’ HE EXCLAIMED AS THOUGH HE WAS STILL RECORDING, ‘I MEAN THANKS.’ HIS THOUGHTS WENT TO THE CAMERA IN HIS POCKET. DARREK HURRIEDLY PULLED IT OUT AND INSPECTED THE EXPENSIVE PIECE OF TECHNOLOGY. HE SIGHED WITH RELIEF WHEN HE FOUND IT TO BE INTACT. HE PRESSED THE RECORD BUTTON ON THE DEVICE, AND A RED LIGHT GLOWED. A BRIGHT WHITE LIGHT FROM THE FRONT OF THE CAMERA LIT THE CREVASSE AROUND HIM. SCANNING THE AREA, HE NOTICED A WARM BREEZE FROM HIS LEFT SIDE. BEING A CURIOUS MAN, DARREK DECIDED TO FIND THE SOURCE OF THE WIND TUNNEL. THERE MAY BE A WAY OUT. GEFFROY HAD SAID THERE WERE TUNNELS DUG BY THE HIRED WORKERS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE TRENCH. IF HE COULD MAKE IT TO THAT TRENCH, HE COULD CLIMB THE ROPE LADDER LEFT UNDER THE MATTRESS. EITHER WAY, THE SHOW MUST GO ON! HE TOLD HIMSELF. TURNING THE DEVICE OFF, HE SHRUGGED HIS BACKPACK OFF HIS SHOULDERS AND LET IT DROP TO THE FLOOR. DARREK WINCED AND SUCKED AIR THROUGH GRITTED TEETH AS HIS SPINE AND RIBS PROTESTED PAINFULLY. THEN, FINDING HIS FIRST AID KIT, HE BEGAN BANDAGING HIS BLEEDING HANDS. ONCE HIS HANDS WERE TENDED TO, HE RUMMAGED THROUGH THE MAIN POUCH AND PRODUCED A FLASHLIGHT, WHICH HE CLICKED ON AND THEN OFF. HE WOULD USE THE FLASHLIGHT IF THE BATTERY OF HIS CAMERA DIED. ‘GUYS! I’M GONNA INVESTIGATE AND GET SOME COOL FOOTAGE FOR THE VIDEO.’ ‘ALL RIGHT, BE CAREFUL,’ SHOUTED MARNIE, ‘WE DON’T KNOW WHAT’S DOWN THERE. BUT, IF YOU SEE A PORTAL, DON’T GO IN WITHOUT US!’

‘HA!’ EXCLAIMED DARREK, ‘FINE, IF I FIND A PORTAL, I’LL TURN BACK,’ HE CHUCKLED AND INSTANTLY REGRETTED IT. HIS RIBS THROBBED WITH EVERY BREATH. ‘HUH,’ HE MUTTERED. A RAPIDLY MELTING LIGHT SNOW SURROUNDED HIM. TO THE NORTH, HE NOTED A SIZEABLE ARCHED TUNNEL, WHICH HE ASSUMED WAS BUILT BY THE WORKERS GEFFROY HAD HIRED FOR THIS VIDEO. WITH A GRUNT, DARREK GOT TO HIS FEET, SWITCHED ON THE CAMERA, AND DICTATED HIS FINDINGS. ‘I HAVE FALLEN APPROXIMATELY FIFTEEN METERS INTO A CREVASSE,’ HE TOLD THE CAMERA. ‘THE GROUND SHIFTED, LIKELY DUE TO MELTING ICE OR DIVERGENT MOVEMENT OF THE TECTONIC PLATE. WE WILL CONFIRM WHEN WE RETURN TO THE LAB. I’M NOT BADLY INJURED, BUT SINCE I’M TRAPPED HERE, FOR NOW, WE’LL INVESTIGATE THE DEPTHS OF HORNELL PEAK TOGETHER. HOPEFULLY, WE’LL FIND THE CAUSE OF THE DISAPPEARANCES BY THE TIME THE RESCUE TEAM ARRIVES. AS OF YET, I HAVEN’T SEEN ANY SIGN OF PARANORMAL ACTIVITY. ALTHOUGH, IT’S INTERESTING TO NOTE THAT IT’S WARMER DOWN HERE THAN ON THE SURFACE, WHICH ISN’T SURPRISING. THE SNOW ON THE MOUNTAIN CREATES INSULATION, AND UNDERGROUND TEMPERATURES AT THESE DEPTHS ALWAYS REMAIN STABLE BETWEEN 10 AND 16 DEGREES CELCIUS. SEE HOW THE SNOW MELTS SO QUICKLY?’ SLOWLY BENDING DOWN, DARREK PLACED THE DEVICE ON THE GROUND AND STOPPED RECORDING. HE FUMBLED THROUGH HIS BACKPACK UNTIL HE RETRIEVED A VIAL. GRABBING A WET STONE SAMPLE WITH HIS BANDAGED HANDS, HE DROPPED IT INTO THE VIAL AND RETURNED IT TO THE PACK. GATHERING THE RECORDER FROM THE GROUND, DARREK PLAYED BACK THE SEGMENT HE HAD RECORDED. A SHORT BURST OF CLICKING CAUGHT HIS ATTENTION IN THE MIDDLE SECTION OF THE RECORDING. IT STOPPED AND STARTED RANDOMLY THROUGHOUT THE VIDEO. SOMETIMES, IT SPED UP, AND OTHER TIMES, IT SLOWED. ODD, HE THOUGHT. THE RHYTHM OF THE SOUND WAS EERIE, BUT IT DIDN’T SEEM MECHANICAL. HE STRAINED HIS EARS AS HE ATTEMPTED TO MAKE OUT THE SOUND, BUT ALL HE HEARD WAS A RINGING. PROBABLY FROM A MINOR CONCUSSION. WHEN HE RETURNED TO HIS OFFICE, HE WOULD USE HIS EDITING SOFTWARE TO ISOLATE THE SOUND. HE THOUGHT ABOUT HOW HE COULD USE THE SHORT BURSTS OF SOUND TO GIVE FALSE CREDENCE TO THE THEORY OF A PARANORMAL OCCURRENCE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MISSING CLIMBERS. DARREK SMIRKED AT THE IDEA. HE KNEW BETTER; IT HAD TO BE CLIMATE CHANGE AND POOR PREPARATION THAT CAUSED THE HIKERS’ DEMISE. HIS OWN FALL PRETTY MUCH WAS PROOF THAT THE SCIENTIFIC ANSWER WAS THE CORRECT ONE. NOW,

‘NOW, HE COULD HAVE FUN RECORDING THE VIDEO AND CREATING A BIAS TOWARD THE PARANORMAL EXPLANATION. HE KNEW IT WAS CLICKBAIT, BUT IT KEPT A ROOF OVER HIS HEAD AND FOOD ON THE TABLE. ALL WAS NOT LOST. EVEN THOUGH DARREK DID FALL EARLY AND WAS INJURED, THE SHOW MUST GO ON, AND WITH ANY LUCK, HE COULD FIND ALL THE PROPS SET UP BY THE TEAM TO USE IN THE THUMBNAIL. A THIN FILM OF SWEAT STARTED TO FORM ACROSS DARREK’S BROW. PERSPIRATION WAS DEADLY IN COLD CLIMATES, SO HE WIPED HIS FACE WITH BANDAGED HANDS AND SHRUGGED OFF HIS WINTER JACKET. UNDERNEATH, HE WORE A GREY HOODIE MARKED TRUTH SEEKERS. PICKING UP THE DEVICE AGAIN, HE STRODE TOWARD AN ARCH HE HAD NOTICED EARLIER, RECORDING AS HE WALKED. ‘THERE ARE NO SIGNS OF THE SNOW THAT FELL INTO THE CREVASSE WITH ME. IT’S ALREADY DRIED UP, WHICH IS CONSISTENT WITH THE WARMER TEMPERATURES. I TOOK MY JACKET OFF BECAUSE IT’S TOO WARM DOWN HERE,’ SAID DARREK TO HIS AUDIENCE. HE SCANNED THE AREA AND PAUSED FOR DRAMATIC EFFECT TOWARD THE ARCHED TUNNEL ENTRANCE. CAREFULLY, HE STROLLED TOWARD THE ARCH. ‘THERE’S AN OPENING, A TUNNEL OR A CAVE BRANCHING OFF THIS CREVASSE. I DIDN’T EXPECT TO SEE THIS. OF COURSE, THERE’S ALWAYS THE POSSIBILITY OF FINDING AIR POCKETS AND THE LIKE, BUT THIS IS CLEARLY MAN-MADE. THE ARCH IS CHISELLED IN BLACK STONE, AND STRANGE CARVINGS DEPICT A SCENE I DON’T RECOGNISE. MAYBE LATER, GEFFROY CAN TELL US WHAT WE’RE LOOKING AT.’ TURNING THE CAMERA TO FACE HIM, HE SMILED INTO IT. THEN, HE TURNED THE DEVICE TO ZOOM IN ON THE SYMBOLS AND LIT THE DARK ENTRANCE TO THE CAVE. ‘CAN YOU HEAR THE CLICKING IN THE BACKGROUND? IT’S INAUDIBLE TO THE HUMAN EAR, BUT WHEN I REPLAYED THE FOOTAGE AFTER THE FALL, I HEARD WEIRD CLICKING. COMMENT YOUR GUESS ABOUT THE NOISE, AND WE WILL TELL YOU WHAT IT IS AT THE END OF THIS VIDEO. THE FIRST FIVE PEOPLE WHO GUESS CORRECTLY WILL WIN A TRUTH SEEKERS HOODIE LIKE THIS ONE.’ HE WOULD HAVE TO TALK TO THE TEAM ABOUT GIVING AWAY MERCH. IF THEY DISAGREED, THEY COULD REMOVE THE OFFER IN EDITING.

WALKING INTO THE TUNNEL SILENTLY, HE STOPPED THE RECORDING AND REPLAYED IT. THE CLICKING NOW SEEMED MORE LIKE THE CHITTERING OF A CAT STALKING A BIRD OR SQUIRREL. A NEW WHITE NOISE, OR PERHAPS IT WAS HISSING, COULD BE HEARD PERIODICALLY. DARREK FELT A COLD SWEAT DRIP DOWN HIS NAPE. WITH ONE HAND, HE WIPED THE MOISTURE AWAY. PRESSING RECORD, HE USED THE DEVICE’S LIGHT TO SCAN THE THREE-METER-HIGH CURVED CEILING OF THE TUNNEL, THE WALLS AND THE GROUND. THERE WAS NO SIGN OF WATER. THE BREEZE COULD EXPLAIN THE WHITE NOISE, OR PERHAPS HIS DEVICE WAS BROKEN. RECORDING ONCE MORE, DARREK SPOKE TO THE AUDIENCE. ‘COULD THE MICROPHONE PICK UP THE SURFACE’S NOISE AND AN ECHO DISTORTING IT? AS FOR THE CLICKING SOUND, I THOUGHT IT COULD BE WATER, BUT I SEE NO EVIDENCE OF THAT. THEN AGAIN, IT COULD BE MECHANICAL. I MIGHT NEED TO GET A NEW CAMERA AFTER THIS. HIT THE LIKE BUTTON, AND IF YOU HAVEN’T YET, HIT THAT SUBSCRIBE BUTTON! I’M QUITE EXCITED TO LEARN THE TRUTH ABOUT HORNELL’S PEAK.’ CONTINUING DOWN THE GENTLE SLOPE, DARREK REMAINED SILENT. HIS BROW KNITTED AS HE REALISED THAT THE GRADE WAS WRONG. THE HILL SHOULD HAVE BEEN EITHER FLAT, OR IT SHOULD HAVE SLOPED UPWARD. THE WORKERS MAY HAVE CREATED THIS FOR AN OPTICAL ILLUSION. HE WAS SUPPOSED TO COME TO THIS TUNNEL FROM THE NORTH. ONLY WHEN HE WOULD REPLAY IT ON HIS SCREEN AT HOME WOULD HE BE ABLE TO TELL. MEANWHILE, WHAT WERE THE ODDS THAT A MAN-MADE TUNNEL EXISTED WITHOUT THE TRUTH SEEKER’S INTERVENTION? AN ANCIENT CIVILISATION COULD HAVE BUILT THESE, BUT IT WAS FAR MORE PROBABLE TO ASSUME THIS WAS GEFFROY’S WORK. OCCASIONALLY, THE TUNNEL WOULD BRANCH OFF TO THE LEFT OR RIGHT. DARREK FOUND MORE CHISELLED ARTWORK ON ARCHWAYS BUILT FROM THE MAIN ARTERY AT IRREGULAR INTERVALS. HE DECIDED TO KEEP MOVING DOWN THE MAIN TUNNEL. WHEN THE TRUTH SEEKERS WOULD RETURN TO HORNELL’S PEAK, THEY WOULD INVESTIGATE TOGETHER AFTER HE’D RECOVERED FROM THE FALL. HE STRAINED HIS EARS TO HEAR THE CHITTERING OR THE WHITE NOISE, BUT AS HARD AS HE TRIED, HE WAS MET WITH SILENCE. AS THE TUNNEL GREW WARMER, HE CONSIDERED REMOVING HIS HOODIE, BUT BEFORE HE COULD SHRUG IT OFF, A SLIGHT RUSTLING NOISE CAUGHT HIS ATTENTION.

DARREK SPUN TO SEE THE ENTRANCE TO THE TUNNEL WAS ABOUT 500 METERS BACK. A WAVE OF DIZZINESS WASHED OVER HIM. HE REACHED OUT AS HIS VISION SWAM, AND A FRUITY SMELL TICKLED HIS NOSE, CAUSING HIM TO GAG. HE STUMBLED TO THE NEAREST WALL, HIS HANDS OUT IN FRONT OF HIM, AND SLID INTO A SITTING POSITION. DARREK MOANED AS HE HELD HIS HEAD IN HIS HANDS. THE PAIN FROM THE FALL WITH THE NEW HORRID SMELL CAUSED HIM TO RETCH. ‘SHIT. I THINK I HAVE A CONCUSSION,’ HE MUTTERED TO THE CAMERA. OPENING HIS EYES SLOWLY, HE SAW SHADOWS DANCE OFF THE TUNNEL WALLS. HIS CAMERA LAY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE TUNNEL, WHERE HE HAD DROPPED IT. HIS HEART HAMMERED AGAINST HIS CHEST, AND HIS BODY QUIVERED. THE FOUL TASTE IN HIS MOUTH AND THE SMELL OF BILE AND VOMIT DID NOT HELP HIS STOMACH SETTLE. DARREK WIPED AT HIS FACE AND MOUTH, SWALLOWING HARD. THE SOFT GLOW OF THE CAMERA REASSURED HIM THAT IT WAS STILL RECORDING WHEN HE HEARD SHUFFLING COMING FROM THE FAR SIDE OF THE TUNNEL. ‘HELP,’ CAME THE SMALL VOICE OF A CHILD, FOLLOWED BY SNIFFLING AND SOBBING NOISES. DARREK’S HEAD TWISTED TOWARD THE SOUND AS HE PEERED INTO THE DARKNESS. HE REMEMBERED AN ARTICLE IN THE LOCAL RAG THAT MENTIONED A NINE-YEAR-OLD GIRL AND HER PARENTS HAD BEEN LOST ON A HIKE UP HORNELL’S PEAK. IF I CAN FIND AND RESCUE HER, I WILL BE A HERO, AND THE TRUTH SEEKER’S FAME WILL SKYROCKET! WE’RE GOING TO BE RICH! THOUGHT DARREK. ‘I THINK I FOUND THE GIRL! I FORGET HER NAME, BUT SHE WAS ONE OF THE MISSING HIKERS!’ SAID DARREK. HE STRAINED HIS EYES, HOPING TO SEE SOMETHING, BUT THERE WAS NOTHING TO SEE. EXCITEMENT CAUSED ADRENALINE TO RUSH THROUGH HIS VEINS. HIS PAIN FORGOTTEN; DARREK TRIED TO STAND BUT FOUND HIS LEGS WERE TOO WOBBLY. SO INSTEAD, HE CRAWLED TOWARD THE VOICE. SOON, HE FOUND THE TUNNEL WHERE HE COULD HEAR THE SOFT SOBS OF A CHILD AND QUIET MOANING. WHEN HE TURNED THE CORNER, DARKNESS SURROUNDED HIM, AND THE COOL BREEZE VANISHED, REPLACED BY A COMFORTING WARMTH. ‘HELP,’ CRIED THE VOICE AGAIN.

DARREK SCOLDED HIMSELF FOR LEAVING THE CAMERA BEHIND. WITH ALL THE ADRENALINE URGING HIM FORTH TO HIS CHANCE TO FAME, HE HAD FORGOTTEN THE DEVICE IN THE MAIN TUNNEL. HIS HOODIE HUNG HEAVILY FROM HIS BODY, REMINDING HIM THAT HIS EMERGENCY FLASHLIGHT WAS IN THE POUCH OF HIS HOODIE. HE COULDN’T TURN BACK NOW, SO HE REACHED FOR IT AND PULLED IT OUT, CLICKING IT OPEN. UNFORTUNATELY, THE LIGHT SEEMED DIM, AS IF THE TUNNEL'S DARKNESS DROWNED ALL THE LIGHT IT PRODUCED. SMACKING THE FLASHLIGHT WITH HIS BANDAGED HAND, HE WINCED. THE LIGHT FLICKERED, BUT THE BEAM DID NOT GROW ANY STRONGER. DARREK MANAGED TO GET BACK TO HIS FEET AND RAN A HAND AGAINST THE WALL TO STEADY HIMSELF. THE QUIET SOBBING BECAME LOUDER. A GUST OF COOL WIND SEEMED TO RUSH DOWN THE PATH, CAUSING GOOSEBUMPS ON HIS ARMS AND THE BACK OF HIS NECK. SILENCE MOMENTARILY FILLED THE TUNNEL, BUT THE CHITTERING HE HAD HEARD ON THE VIDEO SOON BECAME AUDIBLE. STILL MOVING FORWARD, EVEN THOUGH HE WANTED TO TURN BACK, DARREK’S HAND LEFT THE STONE WALL. THE SHADOWS APPEARED TO WRAP AROUND THEMSELVES, CAUSING POCKETS OF DARKNESS. TENTATIVELY, DARREK REACHED OUT, CONFIRMING THAT NOTHING WOULD TRIP HIM OR JUMP OUT AT HIM. AS FEAR SETTLED IN HIS STOMACH LIKE A STONE, HE CONTINUED TO MOVE FORWARD, THE FLASHLIGHT USELESSLY FLICKERING OFF. HIS MIND HAD TO BE PLAYING TRICKS ON HIM. IF ONLY HE COULD TURN AROUND AND GO BACK TO WHERE HE HAD FALLEN, HE COULD GET THE HELP HE NEEDED. THEY WOULD COME BACK LATER AND FIND THIS PLACE AGAIN. THEY COULD CONTINUE THE VIDEO, BUT HE COULDN’T MISS THIS OPPORTUNITY TO FIND THIS GIRL. DARREK WONDERED IF HALLUCINATIONS WERE CONSISTENT WITH A CONCUSSION. DARREK DECIDED TO IGNORE THE DARK SHADOW AND THE CHITTERING; THEY WERE LIKELY A FIGMENT OF HIS IMAGINATION. HE CONTINUED HIS SLOW WALK DOWN THE TUNNEL. RETURNING HIS HAND TO THE STONE WALL TO STEADY HIMSELF, HE A SOFT LEATHER-LIKE FABRIC. ‘WHAT THE HELL?’ HE MUTTERED IN CONFUSION. DARREK RAN HIS FINGERS AGAINST THE FABRIC AS HE BROUGHT THE FLASHLIGHT AROUND. MAYBE HE HAD COME TO THE SPECIAL ROOM THEY HAD MADE WITH ALL THE CAMERAS SET UP. HE WONDERED IF THE SOBBING, CHITTERING AND THE VOICE WERE A RECORDING SET OFF BY SOME SORT OF MOTION SENSOR. MAYBE HE WAS ALL RIGHT. MAYBE HE DIDN’T NEED THE CAMERA AFTER ALL. MAYBE HE WAS RIGHT WHERE HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN AND WAS AFRAID FOR NO VALID REASON. THOSE THOUGHTS BROUGHT HIM COMFORT, AND HE QUIETLY LAUGHED AT HIMSELF.

STUDYING THE MATERIAL OVER THE DOORWAY, DARREK FOUND IT LIGHT, STITCHED TOGETHER CRUDELY WITH SOME SORT OF THICK THREAD. PUSHING IT ASIDE WITH HIS FREE HAND, DARREK GLANCED INTO THE LARGE, DARK CAVE. ON THE FAR WALL, FLAMES FLICKERED, CAUSING SHADOWS OF TERRIBLE MONSTERS TO DANCE ACROSS THE WALL. IN THE CENTRE OF THE CAVERN WAS A PILE OF BLEACHED BONES. ANOTHER PILE WAS LYING IN A HEAP NEXT TO IT. THIS ONE CONSISTED OF BLOODY ORGANS AND BALLS OF HAIR. TO THE RIGHT OF THE DISMEMBERED SKELETONS WAS VARIOUS WINTER CLOTHING STREWN ABOUT THE CAVE FLOOR. WORST THAN THE SIGHT WAS THE PUTRID SMELL OF ROT. DARREK’S HAND TREMBLED. HE LET GO OF THE CURTAIN AND STUMBLED BACK, DROPPING THE USELESS FLASHLIGHT. DARREK CAUGHT HIMSELF BEFORE HE FELL AND INSTINCTIVELY COVERED HIS MOUTH AND NOSE. BENT OVER, HE GAGGED, SWALLOWING REPEATEDLY, TRYING TO SWALLOW BACK THE VOMIT THAT THREATENED TO SPEW. THE SMELL PERMEATED EVERYTHING, LEAKING FROM THE CAVERN WITH A DARKISH SLUDGE. FINALLY, THE SIGHT WAS TOO MUCH, AND HE HEAVED, VOMITING ON THE STONE GROUND. DARREK WIPED HIS MOUTH AND NOSE WITH HIS BANDAGED HANDS AS HE TRIED TO STOP SWALLOWING AND HOPED TO BREATHE NORMALLY. LOUD CHITTERING, FOLLOWED BY A LIGHT-HEARTED CHUCKLE, FORCED DARREK TO LOOK UP. THE CURTAIN. MOVED AS A DARK HAND WITH SHARP CLAWS PUSHED IT OUT OF ITS WAY. DARREK’S HEART POUNDED IN HIS CHEST. HE LET LOOSE A BLOOD-CURDLING CRY WHEN HE SAW THE BEAST BEFORE HIM. HE DID NOT CRY FOR HELP, KNOWING HE WAS BEYOND IT. HIS FATE WAS SEALED. THIS THING, THIS GIANT FURRY HYBRID THING, DID NOT EXIST. THEY HAD DISPROVED IT AT LEAST TWO YEARS AGO, HE THOUGHT. NEVERTHELESS, IT STOOD BEFORE HIM, THREATENING, EIGHT FEET TALL, WITH ANTLERS BIGGER THAN ANY MOOSE HE HAD EVER SEEN. BURNING CHARCOAL EYES BORE HOLES INTO HIS SOUL AS A DARK SNOUT TWITCHED IN DELIGHT. ITS LARGE YELLOWED FANGS AND ROTTEN FLESH CAUGHT BETWEEN THEM AS ITS SINISTER SMILE GREW. WITH A CHILD- LIKE VOICE, IT LICKED ITS CHOMPS AND CRIED THE WORD HE WOULD NEVER CALL, ‘HELP!’ ‘A WENDIGO? HOW? WE PROVED THE WENDIGO AREN’T REAL IN EPISODE 88.’

THE BEAST STEPPED FORWARD AND OPENED ITS MAW WIDE. THE SMELL WAS AS TERRIBLE AS THE THOUGHT OF WHAT WOULD COME NEXT. THE FANGS CLOSED UPON DARREK’S FLESH AND PIERCED THE SKIN OF HIS NECK AS THE PRESSURE OF THE UNNATURAL JAW CLOSED AROUND HIS HEAD. HIS LAST THOUGHTS WENT TO THE CAMERA. HE WOULD DIE A NOBODY. IF ONLY HE HAD BROUGHT THE DEVICE, PEOPLE WOULD KNOW HIS NAME. HE WOULD FINALLY BE A STAR. THE TEETH RIPPED THROUGH HIS NECK, AND HIS SKULL CRUNCHED, THEN HE FELT NOTHING AS DARKNESS EMBRACED HIM.