Night Cap

Setting: Living room of an apartment, hooks hang on the wall, empty, a sofa with a few colorful pillows, dining room table near the couch, and a dead body center of stage, lying face down, there is a kitchenette in the corner of the stage with glasses set up and a wine bottle.

Characters:
Afia
 Dan Joseph (DJ)

[Enter: Afia and DJ, laughing. DJ takes his shoes off and pulls off his coat and puts on the hook, he's mid-conversation. Afia stopped at the doorway.]

DJ: And then my boss has the nerve to tell me, “Go back through the files and highlight everything that references this case file. [sweeps hand in a crossing motion] Instead of that case file.” [Bursts out laughing] I just finished busting ass, highlighting this goddamn case file and he drops a different coloured highlighter in my desk and says to go through and find some other case file, and I'm already goddamn high on highlighter marker ink. [Crosses the living room stepping over the dead body and walks to the couch and looks at Afia] Do you need to be invited in or something? Come. [Pats his hand on the couch] I won't bite.

Afia: Are you seriously pretending you don’t see the dead body?

DJ: [Incredulous] What dead body?  [Looks around]

Afia: That one! [Walks to the center of the stage pointing] This dead body right here.

[Beat]

DJ: Is that a dead body?

Afia: I don't want to touch it, but I'm sure it's a dead body. [Pause] We have to call the cops.

DJ: Maybe it’s just a passed out homeless person who took refuge in my apartment, you don’t know their life story. [Crosses his leg and leans his arm on the back of the chair]

Afia: In that case we should call the cops anyway! This is a breaking and entering! Clearly!

DJ: [Looks around] Come Afia, let him rest, I bet he’s purty tired.

Afia: He's dead, he can't afford to be tired. [Gets on her knees] Ugh, he smells.

DJ: Of course he smells, now can we drop the dead body subject. And get me a glass of chardonnay, if you would be so kind.

Afia: [Stands back up] Are you being serious right now? Is the fact that your – no our apartment – is a crime scene even going to phase you?

DJ: Our apartment? [Stands up] Look, Afia, half a dresser of your clothes and a toothbrush does not constitute dropping an ‘our’ apartment. This is my apartment.

Afia: Oh it’s our apartment when you want a blowjob, but it’s your apartment when there’s a dead body on the floor. [Walks to the kitchenette and looks back at him] You didn’t even chill your wine. DJ. A dead body and unchilled wine. If you're trying to unimpress me you're doing a spectacular job.

DJ: [Shrugs] It's been cool lately, I didn't think I needed to chill it.

Afia: You're a fucking piece of work you know that? It's room temperature and it's not even that cold in the room. [Pours two glasses of wine and immediately chugs hers down, pouring another one] Disgusting, room temperature.

[There is a long pause as Afia stares into the glass and DJ is watching her.]

DJ: Haven’t you had enough to drink tonight?

Afia: [Head shakes a little] I think you confused me for the sluts in the tube tops drinking shots. [DJ scoffs] Yeah I saw you looking, you not even going to try and deny it, are you?

DJ: They were being rowdy! [Walks to the kitchenette and grabs his glass, swiveling it.]  You know I only have eyes for you, sweetpea.

[Afia leans against the kitchenette, sipping her glass, facing the dead body. DJ has his back facing away from the dead body.]

DJ: You know night cap’s usually end on a happier note. [Scoffs] You haven’t even taken your heels off, all the dirt is going to get in my carpet.  [Chugs his glass]

Afia: Please, your carpet is probably soaking in all the blood and odors of decomposition and you’re worried about a little dirt on my shoes mucking up your carpet. [Finishes off her glass and pours another one.] I prefer my heels on, thank you.

[There is another long pause, both are silent]

DJ: This is nice, don’t you think? [He slides his foot up her leg.]

Afia: The dead body isn’t going to go away, Dan. I'm not having sex in an apartment with a dead body.

DJ: [Mocking] I'm Afia, I'm up for anything if you're up for it. Isn't that what you said?

Afia: [Sets the glass down] I'm sorry if a dead body is a little too weird for me. I'm going to leave you two.

DJ: No, Affy, please don't go. I was kidding.

Afia: I’ll call a cab. I’ll pay for it even, you don’t have to do a single thing.

DJ: Haven’t I been good to you? Hasn’t this nice just been lovely? You've been so beautiful and so happy, and now you're mad. Please, baby. We should end on a good note.

Afia:  If you're asking for sex, you might as well just have it with the dead body. [Mocks DJ’s laugh. She walks to the door, lingering a little.] I wonder if the stairway will be far enough where it won't be weird.

DJ: What won’t? [There is a pause and Afia leaves.] You never said what! Crazy... bitch. [DJ pours himself another glass.] You aren’t much for talking are you? [Raises his glass toward the dead body.] Whatever.

John Doe

“When I was a young boy, I used to sit on the roof of my mom's house. I used to sit and pretend like I was somewhere else, that the person that sat underneath the roof wasn't my mother, that the moment I climbed down from the roof I would have a different family, all smiles and shit.” He let out a chuckle. “Oh, shit, am I allowed to cuss?” His head tilted as he stared, laying in a hospital bed. He had a few days worth of stubble growing on his face. I sat on the visitor's chair with a notebook open, scribbling. I scratched out the last bit – asking if he was allowed to cuss and looked up.

“I'm sure my teacher's heard the words before.” I answered, smiling, side-eying the clock. “Please, don't distract yourself too much.” He looked at the fluorescent lights. “Was your family that bad? I mean, sitting on rooftops... it's a little extreme.” I tried getting back on topic, I clicked the pen a few times.

He shrugged, “My parents were divorced, my Dad worked full time and my Mom had me twice a week and every other weekend. It was an ongoing battle for the right of their son.” He explained, scratching his stubble. “But the roof isn't the point, and neither is my mom or my dad, see.” He paused, “The point is, you're hooked, right?” I nodded, for his sake. “You're curious about how fucked up everything was. How worse can his life be? I'll be sitting in my fucking car, the woman of the night would stare at me, like seriously, did he just admit that? I mean I did, I did admit that my mom used to call me retarded in front of my teachers, like I was her problem...” He winced and continued, playing with his tongue. “I used to ask her, if she hated me so much why did she bother fighting for custody? You know what she said?” I shook my head, I mean how would I know? “She told me, get this, she told me...” His finger in the air, holding the words. “She told me I was her punishment, that... twenty eight years ago she thought about getting an abortion, me, and God told her if she went through with it he'd smite her. I was her problem. He never told her, 'Oh by the way treat your son nicely, make sure he has a good life' he just said she had to be in my life.” He snorted and rubbed the bottom of his nose. The room was a pale blue, apparently supposed to calm the patients. He was chewing his lip something fierce, mulling over what to say next. “Finally, I was able to leave. I hid it so far inside, I would go 'what childhood?' But, a few years later it trickled out, leaked, it had to, you don't walk away from that without some baggage. I started paying women, hookers – I mean, to listen to me.” He looked at me, his lips went from smiling to frowning. “Is that pathetic or what? But I truly believed... I still believe, rather, that these women are the only ones who know what true tragedy is like. So I talked to them.”

I look at him, I'm a junior in high school with a bull essay about an important person in my life, six pages, double spaced, he could tell me he's a hotshot at some company, instead he goes for the more truthful, soppy shit. My essay is now on the man in the hospital bed – he's practically dead, and his final testament to the world is his confession about confessing to hookers. Already a question popped in my head: “Why not therapy?”

He smiled – obviously he's thought about this for awhile, “I found out a therapist is 50 bucks, per session, 50 bucks just to listen to you and tell you you're secretly in love with your mother or some shit and drop pills in your lap. I wasn't gonna deal with that, I mean fuck those pretentious assholes sitting behind their desk listening to these sob stories day in and day out. Instead, 50 bucks for a girl whose seen every cock up and down 18^th street? She's not going to judge, how can she? She'd fucking blow me if I asked her because I have 50 bucks in my hand.” I think he realized he was rambling and he stopped, smiling. “Anyway there's a sort of pathetic...” He paused, tonguing his cheek.”...Joy in giving a stranger your life's story, I always feel better afterward, it's addicting.” He chuckled and started picking at his robe. “Shit, I can't even tell you how long I've been doing it for, and it's never the same story or the same girl twice.”

I watched him, curious, no doubt the hookers weren't just for talking to. Deciding to prod a bit more, sitting at the edge of my seat, “Why not just find a girl to have a one night stand with? After you're all done just tell her how you're life sucks.” Seemed reasonable.

He responded, laughing at first, his eyes cast downward. “You think some... one night stand girl wants to hear how my mom overdosed on her couch listening to Disco? How she cried wolf for years and years in my teens about committing suicide, and I changed my number time and time again and still, I get voicemail messages. I just stopped checking my box after awhile. Then, I get this call from a family friend, 'Please you have to come to her funeral, she has nobody else.' I deleted my voicemail, all of it, I had the message, I know I did, I didn't even listen to her last words.” He looked up at me, a little confused. “What was the question? Oh yes, one night stands. I think the problem with one night stands is some of those girls, bless their hearts, they want to fix you, the sex isn't as good when you know the girl is just doing it out of pity. And after telling them a story like that, you know it's out of pity.” I didn't want to know how you know, I'll take his word for it.

I looked at the time, I would inevitably have to come back Thursday – waiting for my sister to get off her shift in the hospital. “Final question for today, how did you end up here?” I smiled, “Simply saying John Doe from the room 324 in Saint Mercy Hospital isn't very... I mean, you're still young and in the death floor.” I felt a pit in my stomach, maybe he didn't know it was the death floor, maybe he did.

He touched his chin, “How do you know this it the death floor?” He asked. His eyes looked toward the cart at his feet, an unopened pudding cup.

“My sister works here, not, this floor, but this building.” I explained, “I'm actually waiting for her to get off her shift.” I press my lips together, don't ask my name, don't ask her name – I pray to God.

Instead he looks longingly out the window. “That must be quiet the age gap.” He commented.

“She is a little over thirteen years older than me.” I explained, “My mom died when I was younger.” I clicked my pen, impatient. This isn't about me, this is about you.

He looked at me with the same pathetic puppy dog eyes the same kind everyone gives me, “Oh I'm sorry.” He whispered, forcing some kind of sick sympathy. And all I can think is 'Oh fuck off, who are you to tell me you're sorry, you spend your life telling hookers your sad ass stories and you think your sympathy means shit to me? I bet you're sorry, sorry you never had a loving sister who took care of you, sorry you ended up here in this hospital.' I sucked my cheeks in, trying not to glare, trying not to murder him with the pen in my hand. He watched me closely, “I don't want to keep your sister waiting, can you hand me the pudding cup?” He asked, looking at it. I stood up, still sucking my cheeks in, still keeping the urge to grab the pudding spoon and scoop his eyes out, I hand it to him, not making eye contact. “Something on your mind?” He asked.

Yeah you bet there's something on my mind you piece of shit. I coughed, “What happened to land you hear?” Smooth.

He rubbed his thumb against his fingers, “I never did answer that, did I? Well, short answer is I was shot by a pimp.” He smiled, oddly enough. “Not even a pimp for the hookers I frequent. This was blocks away, farther away than I'd ever go for some girl. I was just out walking, and then this asshole shoots me, said something like I 'looked like another John who was choking his bitches.' Imagine that, some bitch ass chokes hookers and I get the bullet.” He laughed and held his chest, looking in pain. “Fuck that, the fucking prick shot me in the chest and the hooker is screaming, I'm blacking out and this chick goes, 'No Boss you got the wrong guy!' By the by, I was also robbed before the ambulance came, can you imagine? Some good Samaritan took my wallet and I'm not about to give these hospital assholes my name. Fucking, next thing I know I wake up here and some white coat is telling me how lucky I am for surviving. You know why I'm lucky? I get to live an extra four days because someone called the ambulance. The bullet shattered and there's still a piece near my heart, and they're too scared to pull it out. My heart is pumping and this shard is moving constantly.” His heart monitor was rapidly beeping as he ranted. “This shard can pierce my heart any second and kill me, and the nurses and doctors don't want to touch it.” More beeping and I could hear nurses running to the room. They came in and looked at me with bugged out eyes. I could hear screaming from the other room, and he dropped his pudding cup. His face was paler, but he smiled.

“You should go.” The nurses ordered.

I took a peek at his medical chart, John Doe, born April 1^st, 1984 looked at me, “Hope you get an A on the paper.” He croaked.

“I hope so too.” I replied, leaving. What else was I gonna say?

As I walked away I heard him tell the nurse, “Are the angels as pretty as you are? Maybe it won't be so bad.”

I met my sister at the front of the hospital, she always changed out of her scrubs and into pedestrian clothes. “Did something happen today at school?” She asked. “You look a little down.” Always the noisy one.

“I watched a documentary.” I replied. A sad documentary on the life of John Doe, computer analyst, practiced therapy in the form of hookers, and probably, most definitely someone my sister would have a heart attack if she knew I met. He looked peaceful afterward though, or maybe that's wishful thinking on my part. I like to think giving his life story to a stranger wasn't a form of joy, but relief, catharsis. He let hookers into parts of his life that probably no one else saw, vulnerable and a little child-ish. In that way they probably saw parts of themselves, they got to do some self-reflecting too. I might also be romanticizing him a bit, for all I know telling stories of his screwed up childhood was the only way he got hard. It's not some form of therapy but some weird kink he discovered one night. Maybe, but that's kind of gross and too jaded of an outlook for a man I barely met. John Doe of 324 just wanted people to listen, so he got his wish. I got my wish too, in a way. “A really, really sad documentary.” I repeat. My sister wrapped her arms around me, making puppy dog sounds, rubbing my shoulder and back. At the end of the day, at least, I have her. For once I don't feel like bitching at her for making me go to a school near her, just so that she can pick me up after work easy. I just want to stay in her arms and thank her for being there. For once, I feel happy to be alive.

Lola

Her eyes were fixed on the soda dispenser, Coke, Diet, Fanta, she rolled a dollar coin between her thumb and forefinger. Ice, cold, refreshing, she licked her lips thinking about the cool taste with warm rice and lumpia. From two doors down, she heard furniture crashing, but her eyes stayed fixed on the soda machine.

“Can you fucking believe the nerve of that asshole?!” A woman shrieked from her apartment, “With some hussy at work no less!” More crashing.

Viola closed her eyes. Kept her breath steady. She repeated to herself, “Coke, Diet, Fanta.” She heard the door open, she didn't even twitch; her finger hovered over the buttons, faded with age. Coke, Diet, Fanta.

“No, you know I am done with him and this goddamn hole! All his bullshit furniture, place was a piece of crap!” She continued shrieking down the stairway. Viola heard her voice fade and she pushed herself away from the soda machine with her finger. She stepped, facing the now empty apartment and looked around. Casually, her hand reached to her beanie and she pulled hairpin out. She traced the outline of the lock before inserting it, and started picking the lock.

“Come on, you're the same door as Lola's, don't give me trouble.” She whispered to it. She felt the pins push in and she opened the door. Clothes were strewn on the floor, mostly his. She turned her head, the flat screen – probably his – had 'you cheating pig' scrawled in lipstick. Her eyes traced down, the pink lipstick case – Limecrime Lipstick. Sixteen dollar lipstick, used to write an angry message. Viola shook her head and continued walking, stepping over the wreckage.

In the bedroom, Viola went to the dresser first, using her sleeve she opened it, rifting through underwear. “Jackpot.” She whispered, pulling out a wad of bills hidden underneath the boxers. She looked at the top of the dresser, picking the necklaces with rubies dangling from them, the matching earrings. Lastly, she scanned the floor, her eyes opened wide and she stumbled to the floor, picking up a diamond engagement ring. She looked around, then at the ceiling, mouthing 'thank you.'

At first Viola didn't notice the smell, but as she breathed in, she started choking. Whether it was the broken cologne bottles mixed with her perfume, or the smell of sweet, sickly revenge, she wasn't sure. All she knew was it was suffocating, and she had to get out. The smell was so strong, she tasted it deep in her throat. She coughed and stumbled as she walked two flights down to the second floor.

“Lola.” She called out. “I changed my mind about the soda.” There was a laughter coming from the room. The door open wide.

“Good, because lumpia and rice isn't good to eat with soda.” She said. Lola, was about eighty – or Viola decided she was eighty, her wrinkles and short stature, Viola wasn't sure of her name, but she told Viola specifically she would be referred to as Lola – Tagalog for Grandmother.

“Lola, can I smoke in here?” Viola asked. Lola moved to the kitchen, the rice was ready to be served, the lumpia was stacked on a plate.

It was one of those triggers, Lola would look with piercing black eyes, scowling so her entire face contorted. “You trying to kill your Lola with second-hand smoke?” She asked, talking quickly. “Cigarettes are bad for your health. They make your teeth rot and your lungs dirty, you won't get a man with your breath so foul.” Lola lectured.

Viola waited,

Coke, Diet, Fanta.

She exhaled.

Lola moved the lumpia and picked it up with her tongs. “Cigarette is like tax on the addicted.” Her final words on the subject. She smiled, looking at Viola with her tongs. “Are you hungry?” Her voice became sweet again. Viola looked over at Lola, her eyes trailed over the knick-knacks, jade Buddhas: skinny, fat, Buddhas with money fans in their hands.

Viola exhaled invisible smoke, “I feel a little nauseous.” She admitted.

Lola spooned the rice on her plate with the lumpia, and shuffled to the kitchen table. “You leaving?”

Viola nodded standing up, “Maybe next week.” She apologized.

Lola shook her head, “No, it's okay, you're a grown woman.” She set the plate down and walked over to Viola, “Maybe later this week.” She said, holding her arm for a hug. Viola leaned in, hugging Lola tightly, a faint smell of perfume and Viola felt like puking.

Viola stepped out of the building and pulled out her cigarette pack, a tax on the addicted. She patted her pockets for her lighter. Frustrated growl, she went through her purse. Through her teeth, Viola grunted, “Lola.” She set the unlit cigarette behind her ear and started walking.

Viola laid on her floor mattress, staring at the calendar on her wall. Daytime Tuesdays meant Lola, then evening she would walk to the Bingo Building and wait for Meredith to get out. It was always a coin toss whether or not to eat dinner, because sometimes ol' Meredith would insist on treating Viola and either she ate two dinners and felt like exploding or she told Meredith no and Meredith gave the silent treatment the entire walk home. Being an old woman and angry was like being a child and angry, they seethed for a short while and it pierced through your entire being. But like children, by the next time they saw you, it was like it never happened.

She stood up and paced around, there was no harm in hanging around the Bingo arena a little early, only sometimes Johns would slow their car and ask where her pimp was. She often answered with a swift middle finger. She looked around, aside from her dresser, alarm clock, and bed, the room was empty, she was always ready to leave at a moment's notice. In the living room she had a floor pillow, a desk (that doubled as her dining room table), a chair, and a telephone. On her desk she had a bowl where all the jewelry she took sat, waiting to be pawned. The closet was the most crowded part of the apartment, exploding with knit caps, scarves, and a few sweaters. Some of the old ladies gave her ceramics and trinkets, which she in boxes and kept in the corner of the closet, next to her rain boots.

Finally, the time had come for Viola to begin walking to the Bingo Building. She grabbed her purse and walked out of the apartment, in other apartments the chairs scrapped the floor as people sat down to eat, a tv blared a different channel at every door. The walls were paper thin, it wasn't something you realized unless you lived in silence, on one side you could hear a couple fucking and on the other a couple fighting, Viola never slept much to begin with, but she liked being able to tell people a definitive reason why she looked so tired.

She walked the streets, alert to the cars passing by. She saw the fogged window and a man laying back in her chair, she was almost ready to knock on the window and tell him to take it to an alleyway. It wasn't even that late and he was already getting his fill. She stopped thinking about him and his acquaintance the moment she hit the next street, the woman she saw struck her. Leaning against the street pole, she looked like an old pro, but when she got closer, Viola saw it was an old woman, wrinkled, harmless, smoking a cigarette. The old woman wore a heavy jacket and bright Christmas pajama pants, running up the legs was HoHoHo written, Viola's eyes were bug-eyed as she looked at her. The woman took a long drag of her cigarette. As Viola passed her, she turned her head. The problem, Viola realized, with tending to old ladies, is you're always wondering if you were her fake granddaughter for a week or six months, the sudden fear that a random old woman on the street knows you're just as lonely and desperate as they are. The old woman never turned her head, Viola decided she was too cool to put out an Ad.

Viola reached the Bingo Center and waited outside the doorway, watching her breath condense. Oftentimes Meredith would tug Viola around, telling the other old ladies and men about her wonderful granddaughter: that Viola worked at a bakery or she's getting married and a soon-to-be mother. Viola often looked at the floor, embarrassed. Viola watched the empty lot, her mental clock ticking. Soon, the exodus of people started, some side-eyed Viola, others laughed together, like they've been friends since they started wearing diapers the first time around. She waited until the last person left, andwith Meredith nowhere in sight Viola stopped breathing easy. She stepped into the building.

“Hello?” She called out.

There were a few young people cleaning up the chips on the floor. Mercy Church Bingo Night banners hung behind them. One of the males got a chair and pulled it down.

“Hello?” Viola called out again. All of them looked at her.

“Are you looking for someone?” The oldest in the group said.

Viola smiled, “Meredith... ah...” She trailed off, not knowing a last name.

They stared at one another, “Meredith... Polinzinki?” The older asked.

Viola shrugged, “Kind of old, faded red hair.” She described.

“Meredith... passed away over the weekend. Weren't you there for the service?” A girl asked. She was stacking chairs.

“Did anyone even go to her service?” Someone asked. A few people murmured.

“Valued member, she'll be missed in the church and bingo nights.” Someone else cut in, loudly. That was the downside of not really knowing your pseudo-grandparents, Viola thought, outside of the people they introduce to you, you aren't really in their life, you don't get to know the important stuff, like their funeral dates. She took a deep breath.

“Thanks, then.” She swiftly walked out the room before anyone could ask her for her name. After Viola escorted Meredith home, she would always thank Viola for making sure she made it home safely, she would admit, laughing a little, she was afraid of of being robbed and Viola made her feel secure. She often laughed and said, nonchalantly, if it wasn't for Viola making sure she got home ok, she might end up dead on the streets. Viola shivered and quickened her pace home.

When Viola opened her apartment door and unlocked it, she instantly headed to her phone and dialed Lola's number.

“Hello, Lola speaking.” The familiar voice.

“Hi... Lola.” Viola hesitated, “Sorry for calling so late.”

“It's okay, I was watching old movies.” Viola could indeed hear voices in the background.

Viola searched for the words she was trying to say, it would have been easier if she had waited to call Lola with the words already figured out, but impulses seldom worked like that. Finally she took a deep breath, “Thank you for choosing me.” She finally exhaled. They shared silence. It was one of those things you never pointed out, that this was an Ad, that I answered it, this isn't real. You were just suddenly a mother or grandmother for a child.

Lola chuckled on the other line, “Come by tomorrow and I'll make you lumpia?” Lola suggested. Something funny happened in the movie because Viola could hear the background sound

“I'd like that.” Viola agreed. “I'll come by after work.” She hung the phone up and collapsed on her bed, smiling.

Carnival

“Wait up, Revel!” Timothy cried out, running through the dirt and weed field. He was kicking up dust, dirtying up his black dress shoes and the bottom of his Dickies. He stopped for a moment, watching his sandy blond friend increase the distance between them. He started running again, “Revel, please! I don't want to get in trouble with the Sunday school teacher!” He shrieked.

Revel slowed and turned toward Timothy, “You're not worried about the Sunday school teacher you're worried about your Mom!” He teasingly called out. Unlike Timothy, Revel wore tennis shoes and casual clothes. “Now come on, before they notice we're gone! I want to know you something, or should I ask your Maamee for permission!” He taunted, waving his arms wildly.

Timothy let out a howl and ran after Revel, who bolted again. “Take that back!” Timothy howled, chasing Revel. He ran reckless, his head down and his arms flailing. When Timothy stepped and slipped, he felt himself fall through the air. He laid dazed, clouds drifted through the sky, lazily. The edges of Timothy's mouth stretched to a smile. He rolled onto his stomach and stood up, dusting himself off. “Revel?” He called out. He hesitated running, instead jogged where Revel wanted them to go. He saw the carousel from a distance, from as far away as he was Timothy could see pieces of the carousel were missing completely. The horse was missing one of his legs, the carousel was a rusted color and the paint faded beyond recognition, the mirrors were broken in spiderweb, patterns, the trees that used to surround the area were cut down to stubs, the place had a smell of filth. There was a lake a little while from there, Timothy thought, that's probably where all the smell is coming from. His eyes grew wide and he looked around wildly.

“Where's Revel?” He murmured to himself. “It isn't like him to be so quiet for so long.” He began to walk around the carousel, nearly tripping on Revel laying on the ground. Timothy let out a shriek and began shaking Revel, his breathing was quiet. Timothy let out a howling cry, “Revel wake up!” He shouted. He tried picking up Revel and he nearly fell over, between sobs Timothy called out Revel's name. He looked at Revel again and sniffed. “I'll be back Revel, ok? I'll bring help.” He wiped his eyes on his jacket sleeve and ran toward the Sunday school.

Revel felt a sharp pain in his head when he woke up and he let out a groan. He looked up and saw the carousel, white and pink trim. He took a deep breath, “Where am I?” He asked, sitting up and holding his head. His eyes traced the carousel, then the green grass, and a wired fence with trees surrounding him. He let out a whimper. “Timothy?” He weakly cried out. There was silence, then he heard footsteps.

“Cinna!” A girl's voice called out. “Nevermind, let's just climb the fence and ditch this place.” Revel watched the girl, no older than his Sunday School Teacher grab onto the fence, oblivious to the witness.

“Hello?” Revel asked. She jumped and her head snapped, looking at Revel. Her hair was done in pigtails buns and they were puffed out, her make-up was thick and raccoon-esque, and her clothes had every color and several layers, an out-of-order rainbow. She let go of the fence and crossed her arms. “What are you doing here?” She asked.

“Did yous find her?” A voice called out, deep and manly.

“I found someone else.” She said plainly, her eyes fixed on Revel.

“Whaddya mean you found someone else?” He asked, with a note of astonishment.

“Come here and see, Bepo.” She ordered, never looking away. Revel felt his voice backed up in his throat. The man named Bepo came quickly and stood tall, Revel wasn't sure he met someone as tall as Bepo was.

“What's wit de kid?” He questioned, crossing his arms. Both stared at Revel now.

“Oh, my turn.” He murmured. “I...” He blushed, “I wanted to show Timmy the broken carousel.” He explained quickly.

“Broken?!” Bepo demanded. “The carousel shouldn't be broken it just got built.” He looked at Revel sternly, “Don't lie you little punk, I eat kids like you for breakfa-” The girl punched him in the arm.

“Now, now, what do you mean? Who's Timmy? And where did you hear the carousel is broken from?” She asked.

Revel felt warm, “Timmy is my best friend! He's suppose to be following me through the field.” He gradually whispered. As he spoke. Then he looked stern, “The carousel has always been broken, no one comes here and does anything to make sure it works.” He affirmed.

Bepo and the girl looked at one another, then back at Revel. “This carousel was just built and you's telling me's it's broken?” Bepo responded.

“The carousel was not just built!” Revel's face puffed up, “It's been around since before I was born, my Papa even wrote he loved my Mom in marker!”

“Listen kid, you's a baby but you's ain't tat young.” Bepo grunted, slapping the back of his fingers in his palm, “This carousel was brought here a little over a year ago, don't go telling me anything to the contrary.” He looked at Revel sternly as he spoke; then smiled little and pressed his finger into his forehead. “I don't mean ta scare you or anything.” He apologized, looking at Revel who stared at his shoes, head hung low.

“You have to treat kids nicer, Bepo. He's not one of your friends from the bar, he's sensitive, he's probably not even old enough to go to a movie by himself.” The girl scolded. Bepo looked at her, scratching the back of his head. Revel raised his head and watched them.

“Yes ma'am.” Bepo whispered, his head hung low.

The girl smiled, triumphantly, and looked at Revel, rubbing her nose with her finger. “We should talk to the Bossman about the kid, yeah? I mean, kids just don't wander back here, especially with the circus tent up and all of us standing about.” She looked around. “Hell, the cops would probably lock him up for the night until they find where his home is.” She muttered.

Revel's eyes grew, “I bet everyone at Sunday school knows I'm gone by now.” He whined.

“Why would you be at Sunday school?” The girl asked, her head tilted.

Revel looked confused, “Because today is Sunday?” His voice was high-pitched as he answered. Bepo and the girl looked at each other, both frowning.

“I thought today was Wednesday.” The girl whispered.

“It is.” Bepo affirmed. Their heads turned and they stared at Revel, synchronized in motion. She made a high pitched humming sound. Revel puffed out his cheeks. “Let's go to the Bossman.” Bepo suggested. “He's nice, you'll like him.” Bepo winced as if saying that sentence hurt him. Revel looked around once again, before agreeing.

“You found him near the carousel?” The Bossman repeated, staring at Bepo and the girl. He was about half the size of Bepo, even if he stood on tables he was still much shorter. Revel could hear them clearly from outside the trailer.

“He was, he didn't look like he knew where he was, lost as a drunkard in his first AA meeting.” Bepo noted. The girl turned her head and looked at Bepo, a smile twitched from her mouth.

“Duly noted.” The Bossman said, his mouth puckered and he looked deep in thought. “ It won't be good for us if the cops come around with a Missing Persons on the kid.” The girl let out high-pitched hum and shook her head.

The girl crossed her arms, “We should let him spend the night here, and in the morning go to the cops. By then someone will have reported him.” She looked out the window, “At least I hope someone reported him.”.
“No, no cops.” The Bossman ordered, “The kid is old enough to know where he lives, you can walk him there tomorrow. But absolutely no cops.” He scowled, “Where's the little brat gonna stay anyway?” He asked.

“With the girls, of course, he doesn't need to be with the Lion tamer and Bepo in their trailer. Or the tattooed man, or any of the other guys who work here.” The girl quickly answered.

Bepo let out a quiet chuckle, “I'm sure you didn't mean offense.”

“Oh, I meant offense.” The girl replied, grinning widely.

The Bossman's mouth twitched into a frown and he looked as if he suddenly solved a puzzle, “Why were you two out in the forest for anyway?” His voice had a accusatory tone to it.

“What do ya think wes were doing?” Bepo snapped. “We was looking for Cinna, since no one else seems to give a damn!” His voice shook the trailer, and Revel tensed up.

The Bossman's face became deep red, “I told you not to waste your time on her cause; she dug herself a hole she gotta get herself out of that hole!” He screamed.

“Cinna wouldn't even look at us and then suddenly she books like that! It's rotten eggs and I gots the suspicion yous the bad hen!” Bepo's voice strained as he screamed. The girl tugged on Bepo's arm, trying to quiet his voice.

“Are you accusing me of something, Bepo?” The Bossman challenged, his fingers tapped at his chest, “If you're accusing me of something you better goddamn be prepared for consequences!” Both the girl and Bepo stared at the Bossman.

Revel shook, trying to hold back tears, 'stop, stop yelling' he thought to himself. A cool breeze touched his cheek and a soft glow came from between the trailers. “Why are you crying?” Whispered the phantom woman.

Revel looked up at her, vaguely she resembled the girl who was helping him. He let out a whine and shook his head. From the trailer, the girl was still sobbing and Bepo and the Bossman were silent. Bepo's eyes piercing and his fist clenched.

“Well?” The woman asked.

Revel wiped his eyes, “I wanna go home.” He whined.

The woman knelt beside Revel, she was translucent, Revel could see the trailer through her. “If you go home now, you won't be able to tell anyone where I am.” She whispered.

“Where you are?” Revel stammered.

The woman looked at herself, the longer Revel stared, the more detailed she became, her face was boated, she looked sickly. “Water.” She struggled for breath and started to shake wildly. Inside the trailer, Revel could hear Bepo screaming profanities. The woman gasped and looked at Revel, her eyes wide, “Tell them, you want to join the circus. You'll do anything.” Her body twitched and gasped. “Don't trust the Bossman – I'll come to see you again!”

The door opened to the trailer, Bepo stood with his fist clenched. “Now who's accusing who's of something now?!” He screamed.

The girl followed Bepo out, her eyes red and puffed. Revel turned to the ghost, but she had disappeared. He couldn't bring himself to speak, if he tried, he might drown.

“Come on.” The girl said, holding her hand out. Revel reached out and stood up. The Bossman watched from the doorway as the three walked away.

Revel laid on the army cot in the bedroom, the door was open a crack and he could hear the women talk amongst each other.

"Do you really think Cinna is gone forever?” One of the voices asked, causing a clamor among the rest of the ladies.

“You shouldn't listen on their conversations.” The ghostly woman criticized.

Revel looked out the door, “I don't know what's going on.” He whispered and looked at the ghost woman. “Your name is Cinna... right?” He winced a little. “I mean, you could be anyone else, but you're... probably Cinna.”

The ghost woman tilted her head, “Yes. And no.” She answered.

“Yes and no.” Revel repeated, frowning.

Cinna laughed a little, “Nevermind.” Her arms crossed. “I need to ask you a favor.”

Revel looked blankly. “Sure, considering you brought me here... I think.” He tilted his head.
Cinna nodded, “I did.” She answered, then came close to Revel, “I brought you here for a reason, I've spent my undead life trying for peace, but I need help.”

Revel looked down, “Tell me what I can do.” He answered.

“Are you talking to yourself?” The girl opened the door, looking at Revel.

The ghost disappeared. Revel turned to the girl and smiled, “I suppose I am.” He replied.

She tilted her head and giggled. closing the door. He heard her muffled voice, then muffled laughter.

Revel wrapped the blanket around him and stared at the wall. “What is my reason?” He asked, hoping Cinna would answer.

**

“Are you sure this is where you live?” The girl asked as they walked along the sidewalks.

Revel nodded as he walked, “We walk this way everyday from school, this is the main street and we turn... at Pinecrest.” He looked up and turned, staring blankly. The street was gated off and piles of dirt layered the street. Revel whined. “It's here, I know it's here.”

The girl frowned, “It's okay kid, if you don't remember.” She held his shoulder, “You can stay with us still, maybe you'll remember later.” They stared in the mounds of dirt, listening to the sound of trucks driving through.

They started walking back toward the carnival, Revel looked around, “My church should be around here.” He suggested.

“Maybe someone will recognize you.” The girl replied and she followed Revel.

They came upon the church, closed off for construction. The girl let out a humming sound. “I am so sorry, kiddo.” The girl whispered.

Revel felt tears well up and a knot in his chest. “Can we... go home now.” He asked, looking at the girl with a lowered head.

When they reached the carnival Bepo was sitting with the tattooed man, he was busy sketching in a paper. They sat in lawn chairs, and Bipo's feet were kicked up on the wine cooler. Revel stared at the tattooed man, he couldn't see a bare part of his skin anywhere.

“I thought the whole point of taking the kid to his parents was he wasn't gonna come back.” Bepo said.

The girl rolled her eyes, “We walked around his neighborhood but...” She shrugged. “Bossman said no cops and if the kid can't find his house it's not our fault.”

“Then drop him off and run away.” The tattooed man said, looking at his knuckles. Revel could see Free written on each knuckle of one hand. He chuckled a little.

The girl whined, “I don't think he lives around here.”

Revel continued, entranced by the Tattooed man. He could see Bepo and Cinna hidden within the tattoos, he tilted his head. “Is your name on there?” He asked looking up at the girl.

Bepo and the Tattooed Man let out an uproarious laugh. The Tattooed man held out his right forearm, Princess was written in a heart.

“Your name is Princess?” Revel asked.

Bepo laughed and leaned back, “No, she never told us what her name was, Cinna had her name, Princess just kept silent. She's always the Heroine or the Princess anyway, she has no need for a real name.” He stated matter-of-factly.

The girl had her arms crossed, “In so many words, yes.” She winked at Revel. “Names tie us down, you know, if I wanted I could use a different name every town, but I prefer to always be Nameless.” She explained.

“Isn't that poetic?” The Tattooed man teased. Bepo and the Tattooed man laughed again.

The girl scoffed, “You guys are having too much fun, once we get our horses and lions you'll be shoveling poop and cleaning trash and won't have time for laughing.”

“I laugh when I clean poop, don't you?” Bepo asked, tapping the Tattooed man on the arm. They laughed again.

Revel thought deeply. “What happens when you want a tattoo but you have no more skin?” He asked.

The laughter stopped and the Tattooed man smiled, “The same thing Picasso did when he painted, I'll cover something with what I want.” He rubbed his chin. “Even if you cover something, does it negate what was there before?” He asked.

Revel looked deep in thought before his head tilted, “What?”

Bepo's laugh became hoarse, “It's okay Kiddo, yous too young to know whats up.” He explained. The Tattooed man stared in the dirt, the very meaning the world was in his gaze.

“Who's Cinna?” Revel finally broke out.

All three looked at Revel with intensity. “Cinna is the sister of Princess.” The Tattooed man told.

“She was the North Star of this circus.” Bepo spoke as if she was a myth.

The girl looked at Revel, “She disappeared a day before you came here.” She informed, “First we thought she was just play hiding, but now we aren't so sure.”

“We are actually pretty sure she isn't playing.” Tattooed man corrected.

Bepo looked annoyed, his breathing changed and he tensed up, “We want to look before the circus starts up to the public but...” He trailed off.

The Tattooed man cleared his throat and the sound of footsteps could be heard. “Hello, my children,” The Bossman proclaimed. “I hope what I smell isn't something parents and cops alike will get mad over.” He scolded lightly, then laughed.

Revel blinked and looked at the girl who shook her head. The Tattooed man twisted his mouth into a smile, “Do you smell anything Bepo?” His eyes shifted. “Princess? Kiddo?”

The Bossman looked over at Revel. “I thought he was going home.” His voice lost any cheerfulness.

“I don't think Revel has a home, I rather take him in as a child, instead of looking for something that doesn't exist.” The girl explained.

The Bossman frowned, “What can this little kid do?” He asked.

“Well so far he's been great moral support.” The Tattoo man said, grinning. “And I bet he can shovel poop and pick up trash, and even sell popcorn, since we'll be on stage when the hungry people are in the stands.”

Revel looked at the Tattoo man in amazement. “I-I can?” He asked.

The girl nudged him. “Please Bossman! All the ladies think he's just the sweetest thing, he's making us happy by being around.” She wrapped an arm around his neck and hugged him, laughing.

The Bossman's mouth twitched, though rather he was smiling or not was up for debate. “Fine.” He caved in, “But I don't want to hear any whining.” He sternly commanded, then smiled.

Revel nodded and grinned, “Yes sir!” He bellowed.

**

“Bepo?” Revel called out. He had a shovel that was nearly as tall as he was and he hefted a pile of poop and dumped it in the wheelbarrow.

“Yes little guy?” Bepo answered. He was on the other side with a bigger shovel.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Revel slammed the shovel into the dirt and leaned against it. He was so sure he didn't belong here, and yet here he was, on his third shoveling duty. He started to question if Timothy was real, if he really had a Mom and a Dad and if the Sunday School was where he came from, because he just didn't know.

Bepo looked at Revel, he scraped up another load and dumped it in the wheelbarrow. “No, but I do's believe in little kids whos drop from the sky ands help me shovel dung.” He joked.

Revel frowned and grabbed his shovel, scrapping more poo. He looked up to see Cinna walking through the trailers. he looked at Bepo, whose face was intense as he continued shoveling.
"I'll be right back." Revel called, hopping over the fence.
"Where yous going, kid?" Bepo screamed.
Revel followed Cinna as she walked through the forest, her steps slow, deliberate. He followed, avoiding every stick and fallen leaf. She came to a lake clearing, the Bossman stood at the edge of the lake. Cinna disappeared the moment her feet touched the lake. Revel let out a squeak and the Bossman turned, facing him. "You looking for trouble, kid?" He asked, walking over.
Paralyzed, Revel looked at the Bossman, shaking and tears streaming down his cheek. The Bossman grabbed his arm and Revel let out a blood-curling scream.

The scream lasted as Revel opened his eyes, his mom, Timothy, and the Sunday School nurse stared at him in confused panic.

“Revel!” She shrieked and hugged him.

Timothy let out a howl and the Sunday School nurse thanked the lord for this blessing. Revel's eyes darted around the room, it was the church's nurse's building. He let out rapid, gasping breaths of air.

“The lake!” Revel cried out. “The lake is were Cinna is! Someone has to save her!” He bawled, his breathing heavy. All eyes stared in confusion, his mom cupped his face in her hand.

“It's okay Revel, it was just a dream.” She whispered, brushing the tears off his cheek.

Revel had pained looks on his face, “Cinna came to me... she needs to be saved... she's been trapped in the lake.” He said every word after long gasping breaths of air, “Please someone.” He whispered.

Revel's mom hugged him tightly, “Shhh....” She comforted, “It's all right now.”

Surrounded by tree stumps, the lake was now putrid green, tires, empty beer bottles, and chemical waste. The land abused and forgotten, Cinna stands in the center of the lake. She waits patiently for another person to come, to tell them she still exists, she's been covered up, but she still exists.

[Untitled]

Erase a line, then write another one
The completely white page
minatory to the
writer's conscious.

You type anything,
to get that obnoxious blinking cursor
moving.

Your mood shifts from irritable
to tempestuous.
Ready to obliterate the piece of technology
impulsively dump the now cold coffee
on the unused keyboard
to be able to finish anything
before your body decays and turns brittle
would be paradise
to the
literary
soul.

Bus Ride

I stepped on the bus steps, pulling my pass out from my wallet and flashed it to the driver, my bus pass was in front of my photo ID so I could have quicker access. The driver nodded his head and I walked toward the middle of the bus, it was a three car bus, and not many people were riding this time of day. My favorite seats were the ones in the middle, so you directly faced the windows. The bus started to roll. One, two, three blocks. People got on, people got off.  I stared at my reflection to pass the time, the window was slightly curved inward so my reflection was warped, I continued to stare, the reflection became more and more warped, worsening the longer I stared at it.
The bus jerked to a stop, I heard a teenager in the second car curse the bus driver. The doors opened, people got on, people got off. A Hispanic older man and his daughter, I guess, sat across from me. The man was speaking Spanish to someone a few seats away from me, and they laughed together. The girl next to him had an annoyed countenance. I stared at my hands, I knicked my finger cutting a tomato and the blood soaked through the bandage. The bus drove for a few blocks and stopped, the second man got off and the father talked to his daughter. She looked worse than before, she picked at her nails and looked like she was trying to ignore what her dad was saying. I moved my head and looked at the second car, there was a couple with their tongues so down each other's throat it could legally be called cannibalism.
Another stop.
I looked in the second car again, a woman was sitting in one of the chairs by herself, her hair looked like a beehive, her eyes were sunken in, her wrinkles deep set. I pulled on the stop cord of the bus and stared at the beehive woman. She looked ready to stand up herself, but a girl intervened. "Not this stop, this isn't your stop." she repeated.
I looked at the other people on the bus, they all looked like they were dying in their seat, decomposing on the red plastic. The beehive woman sat back, then looked up at the ceiling. She looked at everyone, the lost souls on the ride to who knows where. All I knew was the next stop jerked, and I stood up and walked out the door. I stood on the sidewalk and watched the bus.
Before I could turn around, a city truck, the kind with the cement mixer, rammed into the bus, toppling it over. I heard screams around me and the shrieking halt of the cars from the intersection. I took a deep breath and held my chest.
Not much of a stop, I thought.

Pitch Shift

If you pushed the speed slow
of a catchy beat,

a trip-hop kind of beat,
wherethewordswouldblend.

To a speed that spelled out

every
word
spoken.

The tempo timed different
and
the meaning of the song

changed

If you pushed it fast,
the most masculine
grungiest growls
sound like
bubblegum pop
trash.

Sometimes even the slightest semitone,
changes the song and startles
the listener.

Drabble 2

I woke, soggy, drenched, laying face down in a pile of mud, but that wasn't what woke me. What woke me was the feeling of needles stabbing up my arm, rapidly and through my clothes. pinching my skin. My hand swiped through the air and I heard a yelp.
"I'm trying to help you?!" The voice was high pitched and sharp, like a whistle. All I could think was 'are you?' but I didn't respond.
I opened my eyes and pushed myself up from my planked position. I looked for my so helper, but no person was in sight.
"Hello?" Screamed the voice. A glowing gnat flew around my face.
"Hello." I replied. My own voice startled me, it was booming compared to the flying thing. It stopped flying around and stayed in a consistent spot, to my surprise it wasn't the body of a bug staring back at me, but a tiny woman, no bigger than my pinky thumbnail. Her wings fluttered quickly, before she took off again, circling me.
"Can I, uh, get a little help?" I asked.
She flew toward my shoulder and climbed up. "With what?" She spoke into my ear.
"For starters, uh, who am I?" That question seemed pressing, more than the other hundred. "Or who are you? What are you? What am I doing here?" I looked around, I was surrounded by trees and my mud bed looked like I had been in it for awhile.
"I don't know the answer for any of those?" It sounded more like a question then a response. I took a look around again. Just forest, just her, and just me. I took a deep breath and exhaled. "You're not suppose to be here?" She tugged at my ear when she spoke.
"I don't..." My voice trailed off. She giggled and flew away. I followed, silent.
She took me to a clearing, a large deformed circle of grass, wide enough for several people to sit down. She flew around rapidly. From far away I could only hear the chirping, but at least I thought she was trying to speak. It took a long while but then more glowing bodies came out of the trees. Their combined stare sent shivers down my back. Finally one flew toward me, "You're not suppose to be here." She said.
"Where is here?" I asked quietly.
They looked at one another. The one closest to me said something un-human at the group. Then suddenly, looked at me, "You're in our home." She hissed. All but one in the group looked at me with piercing stares.
"Just tell me how to get home and I'll go." I begged, stepping away from the swarm.
"Close your eyes." She ordered. I hesitated, but did as she said.

When I woke up next, I was laying on the concrete, my hand clinging to a bottle of absinthe. My head pounded with a headache and my body shivered, I tugged at my damp clothes. I heard people walking by, laughing.
Finally, I stood up, holding my bottle. My teeth chattered and I walked away, catching a glimmer of light speed past me.

Fractals

From the grains of sand on the ocean floor
to the threads that wrap and hug your body
hair follicles to blood cells to atoms
everything is made up of something else
fractals make up fractals.

All the time spent together,
lounging about,
eventually it builds,
like rain drops that become lakes,
and wash you away.

I thought maybe you hid a crayon up your sleeve
because the way the world became brighter when you were around
maybe as I turned my back, you colored the flowers
shades brighter than they were.
You made the world a better place with your crayons.
So beautiful Mother Nature was in awe.

Sorry to say, it never lasted,
once you left
the flowers became shy,
the sky faded
the world became dull and flat.

You laid in a too-white sheets,
and the walls around you are an awful green,
that looked worse than pea-soup
the balloons and get-well flowers crowding the room.

Mother Nature cried for you when you passed
and dedicated hills of flowers to your honor,

Dribble

Jacob walked with one hand in front of him, trying to grasp an intangible idea as he spoke. "You see, love is... love is a lot like success." He paused, either for dramatic effect or because he was gathering his thoughts. Melanie watched him, Jacob was only two years older than her, yet he treated those two years as if they were decades of experience. He was at least a head taller than her and he tried dressing like Robert de Niro in Taxi Driver while Melanie wore her pink and white gingham dress. They walked along the neighborhood with aimless purpose. Jacob inally took a breath, "And I mean you gotta fail a lot, before you succeed. You need to drudge through break-ups before you find love." He finished his thought and looked at his hand, focusing on it. "You get what I'm saying?" He asked.
"I guess." Melanie looked at Jacob, "Kind of poetic for your taste, I bet you took it from a book or something." She teased and laughed lightly.
Jacob was silent and lost in thought. He snapped out of it and turned his head, "What was that?" He asked. Melanie blinked and laughed shaking her head. Walking, Jacob kicked a piece of sidewalk that stuck up and stumbled, causing Melanie to burst into a fit of snorting giggles.

Phantom

Her fingers ran down the empty bed, her fingers delicately plucking the air, playing a harp that only she could hear. A phantom laid in her bed, keeping her up, restless, craving. She could the almost magic that happened, how two people could lay in bed hugging one another, as if they were stuck on a twin-sized mattress instead of a queen, then wind up on opposite sides, the blanket pulled unevenly.
She tried to sit up, but she had sunken into her bed, buried under comforters, her head too nestled into the pillow to bother to pull up. She remained laying with the lingering sense of lonliness. Her arm rested on her mid-section, she became acutely aware that holding the hand holding her was the safest feeling in the world, yet she was only there to hold herself. Ignoring the phantom, she closed her eyes, 'I am alone and I am fine.' She repeated in her head. Repeating it more than three times, she felt worse, having to justify her own lonliness in the night - the phantom would chuckle - served only to make her realize how alone she truly was. No one could comfort her, only herself, and only poorly. She took a deep breath in, then breathed out, once, twice, until she felt calm.
When she woke up in the morning, the had the blanket all to herself and the knowledge that even if she was alone, there was still a phantom that kept her company, even if he never meant to.

Furniture

(This is more of a blog post or a word vomit, than a fictional piece, but all the same it's published.)

There is a metaphor, that friends are like furniture. One day you'll move into a new apartment or house, and find your table doesn't fit the scheme of the house, it sticks out too much or maybe it's too bulky. Maybe the colors clash, or suddenly you prefer glass to wood. Maybe there isn't even a reason, you just no longer want that piece. You get rid of it. In the same way, after a year or five you have a friend and whatever close bond you two had, severs for some reason. Whether the bridges were burnt or you two grew away from one another. One might not have noticed, but you definitely did, and you didn't want to continue a friendship you knew was dying, a friendship past expired.
A metaphor like that, can be continued on and on forever, because there are near infinite amounts of things that can compare a friendship to furniture, no matter how attached you are to any piece, it just, stops. One day the functions of both just cease.
-

Tommy

I stretched my arms as I ran down the hill, my bottom lip buzzed “Brrzzz! Airplane landing!” I screamed as I crashed into the freshly grass. It had an overpowering smell and made my skin itch, but i loved grass all the same. I relaxed my body and laid in the grass and I closed my eyes counting to myself: one, two, three.
“Hey wake up, silly!” A voice called and my eyes opened wide and my mouth grinned, Tommy was beside me, his warm smile, like always. He wore a yellow t-shirt and blue jeans, his shoes were a dirty white, like always. We sat in silence for awhile, him picking at the grass and I stared at the clear sky.
My mom sat at the top of the hill, reading one of her new books. Her same grass-stained dress, her same beach towel, she made our trips to the park identical every trip. It was checkered blue and white - except for the green grass stains. It was her only dress she felt comfortable washing day in and day out, she said if it ever ripped she would use the fabric to make something else. She caught me watching her and waved, I returned the wave, then lowered her head and returned to her book.
“How long do you think I can stay down here before she gets worried?” My voice felt weak, I ripped out a chunk of grass and threw it in the air, the more nervous I got, the more grass I pulled - I never wanted to tell Tommy I only came to the park to see him. I started to scrunched the ripped grass into a ball and threw it in the air, it fell like confetti. Tommy laughed and watched as I continued pulling more grass - I hoped he'd never leave. The smell filled my nose after awhile and I remembered after school my father would come home from work, he smelled like grass too, his shoes were always green from mowing lawns every day. He looked at me with tired eyes, the kind of sunk in sadness no one could fix, but my mom tried.
“Not long, maybe. You should go up, soon.” His eyes twinkled, my cheeks felt warm, I continue to watch her though. “Is something wrong?” He finally asked, “Maybe you should go to your mommy, you look really pale.” His fingers were close to mine, "Please." He watched me.
“But I wanna stay down here with you!” I whined, looking at him, he was only slightly bigger than me, but he always knew what I was thinking and he was still my closest friend, even if he should hang out with kids his age, he always hung out with me instead. He turned and faced my mom, and I glanced at her as well.
My mom focused on me, then back at her book, for the first year, the only books mom bought were the kind that told you how to get over loss, they had pictures of people staring off into space, like mom did whenever we were outside - she never noticed but I watched her smile at me, then turn and look away. She stared at me for a long while. “Do you want to call it a day?” She called out, her hand flung on the floor, looking for the bookmark.
Tommy looked at me, “Stop worrying about me, bestest, I always come to tell you goodnight, remember?” He beseeched. I knew he'd be there, but I never saw him.
I watched the sun in the sky, it was getting closer to bottom, what mom called the horizon, then back at Tommy who smiled at me. “Bye, Tommy.” I finally said and ran up the hill and fell down, hugging her leg, “I wanna stay.” I said. I turned my head toward Tommy who was staring at us.
She giggled and knelt down, “I have another game we can play on this hill, do you want to?” She pulled my shirt down and brushed some of the grass off of my outfit. I nodded, going like a bobble-head. My mom kissed my forehead and laid down near the edge of the cliff, “Okay lay down like mommy.” She instructed, crossing her arms and looking at me as I copied her, she looked like those mummies at museums who always cross their arms, it made me giggle. With one arm she pushed herself, rolling down the hill like an unstoppable boulder, she was on her way to crash into Tommy, I could already see it. My throat felt too dry to scream and I closed my eyes, when I opened them again my mom was waving her arms and I couldn’t see Tommy. I started to choke and cry, I curled in a ball. I heard my mom run up the hill and her arms wrapped around me.
“Honey what’s wrong?” She asked, touching my cheek and forehead, “Did a bug bite you?” I cried louder, my throat felt raw and I panted as I breathed in, she looked more worried, “You must be thirsty and tired.” She whispered to herself and bit her lip. She packed our picnic supplies and held them with one arm and carried me with the other, by the time we got to our car she was out of breath. I looked at her, I felt dizzy and ready to pass out.
When we reached the house she sat me on the dining room table, giving me a big glass of water to drink and pulling out the fever reader. I drank the water halfway and she kissed my forehead, “You don’t feel warm.” She said, touching my cheek with her hand. She kissed my forehead and nodded to yourself. "Did something happen?"
“I feel better now mommy.” I said, my head was lowered and I watched my feet dangle. She nodded and walked to the cabinets, opening the doors and looking through them.
“What do you feel like having for dinner, honey?” She moved swiftly through the kitchen as she asked.
“My tummy isn’t hungry mommy.” I whispered.
She stared at me for awhile then walked over, “Do you want to go to bed then?” She murmured, her voice a lullaby. I nodded, looking at her and frowning. She picked me up again and walked me to my bedroom, and then tucked me into my sheets. She looked ready to cry as she stood over me, brushing the hair out of my face. “Are you sure you're alright, my love?” She pressed, her eyes wide as she watched me carefully. I looked at my hand for awhile before I make the ok sign with my thumb and pointing finger, she got up and waited at my bedroom door, staring at me as I looked at the ceiling; glow in the dark stars were stuck on the top, I always fell asleep staring at them,  I tried waiting until they vanished but I usually fell asleep before then. After a long time, she closed the door and left. I hurt my neck to look around. Tommy’s hand appeared first from the closet, then the rest of his body, the closet door creaked open.
“Hi Leslie!” He said, grinning widely. He stepped over my stuffed animals and stood.
I kicked off my bed covers and ran to hug him, giving a quiet giggle. “I thought you were gone forever.” I whispered to him. I didn’t stop looking at his face, wanting to remember every part of it, but every time I try and remember, he always changes: freckles that weren't there before, a nose that gets a little bigger, eyes that change colors. His eyes were blue last week and this week they are brown.
“I would never leave you, silly.” He said, putting his hands on his hips, “You just forgot about me, is all.”
I shook my head, “My mom was gonna crush you, I saw her.” I retorted, my hands on my hips, the same way my mommy looks at me when she knows I’ve done something wrong, the way I look at Tommy when he's being silly.
Tommy looked at me and shook his head, waddling to my bed and sitting on the edge of it, “Your mom couldn’t crush me if she tried.” I followed him, sitting beside him.
“Then why did it take you so long to come back?” I asked, my eyes felt like they were burning.
“You were busy with your mommy. I can’t take that away from you.” His voice was soft like mom’s, a lullaby. He looked at me and gave a nervous sort of smile, the kind where a frown peeks through no matter how hard you try.
“But I wanna be with you more than my mom.” I whispered.
He shook his head again, “You aren’t alone when you’re with your mom.” His hands reached for my cheek, "The only family you have is her."
“It feels like I’m alone though, sometimes I wonder if she even sees me.” I whispered, sniffling. It was silent for the longest moment; I could hear my mom trying to be quiet about cleaning the dishes, but I heard clattering all the same. “I miss my dad. Mommy’s different without him.” I took a deep breath, “She looks at me different, like she…” I stare off in the distance, “Like she’s remembering.”
Tommy looked at me, he was talking but no words came out, all I could hear were my own thoughts, I wanted my dad back, I wanted my mom back. “Mommy!” I cried out.
“Honey?” She called out, I heard quick steps and the door pushed open, she stared at me from the doorway, and one arm was all soapy and the other was watery.
I looked at her, I felt heavy and on fire. “Nevermind.” I said, getting back in bed and looked at my night stand. A small picture frame of my father when he was a child laid beside me, all the adults called him Thomas, but I knew him as daddy. I thought I heard Tommy say “I love you,” but it could have been my mommy too. The silence like banging pots and pans. My mommy left, Tommy left. I closed my eyes and waited to fall asleep.

200 Words

He was staring at the blinking cursor on the computer screen, his fingers hovering over every letter, just one word to start, any word, something that will become a sentence, a paragraph. The blinking cursor, continued, taunting him. His coffee was already half empty, he’d had a snack break five minutes ago, the napkin was balled, just an inch from the trashcan. His chair creaked loudly as he leaned back, his eyes wandered to the walls. The computer clock was incorrect, no ticking of seconds, no cell phone within reach. He closed his eyes and grunted. Complete blackness surrounded him, blink of white, back to black, if he stayed long enough the four legged beast would come and attack him, thick green saliva would ooze from its mouth, he would see it for one second before everything became dark, it would come closer, closer
“Write.” It hissed lowly, with breathe reeking of stale coffee.
“I can’t.” He whined.
Its claws raised high as it slashed at him, “Write!” It repeated, over and over, slashing and gnawing at him. He would wake up with a jolt and stare at the blinking cursor. He wasn’t sure which was more terrifying anymore.

Blood Mixed With Shaving Cream

Rain drops hit the pavement, leaving pools of water on the sidewalk and rivers in the rain gutters, Dmitri held his jacket over his head as he ran through the streets, breaking up puddles that were forming. He held a cigarette in his teeth as he continued to run, his eyes darted between the buildings looking for an awning. He sometimes caught a glimpse of his reflection in the windows, walking calmly besides himself..
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” He repeated over and over to himself, his feet and pants soaked, the small black box dug against his thigh, the question he left unasked burrowed in his mind. He slowed down and walked a few steps, then turned around. “I forgot my medication!” He gasped loudly. He had a small bottle left in his locker at work, and he left without taking it with him. The few left out in the rain gawked at the spectacle, before their heads turned away. “I knew I should have went back to work, I shoulda finished the day, not go to the damn pawn shop and ne-negotiate.” He sniffled, wiping the snot oozing from his nose, his teeth chattered. . 
Not go home early and unexpected? What a surprise for her. Whispered through the air. Dmitri turned his head, blinking. His shoulders shrugged and continued walking.
“Irene, Irene, Irene. Why did you sleep with him?” His voice became more desperate as he asked himself, cursing every step. “. I was suppose to be working and you looking at...” He became silent. and stepped beneath a large canopy, the sound of the rain on the canopy was like tiny bombshells. He looked down at his feet, the floor, the water droplets creating a constant ripple in the ever expanding lakes of the sidewalks. Anything, anything to grab his attention. The men at the shipyard who gave a holler and a laugh at a crude joke, the hooker and the Rabi or something. He was too busy that day thinking of the ring. The ring, a small crystal, he had been saving money for months, forgoing drinks with his crew members for overtime.
Look at what you did for her, and she threw it back at your face. It spoke, louder.
“Why Dmitri, why did you have to hit her.” He said to himself loudly, as he walked back and forth under the cover. “That’s… unforgivable, even... if-.” He brpke it off. “How is she gonna marry you now, eh?” He continued to monologue, “Hell, I’d be lucky if she even let me back in the house.”
I can help you. Echoed, over and over. A laughter erupted, Dmitri’s neck turned, no one was around, he strained to listen. Silence. He smelled an overpowering cologne, the cheap kind that could make a dog faint from its ranking smell. Loneliness and emptiness. No broken glass to signify a broken bottle, no nothing.
A rapid movement caused Dmitri to look up, his breathe visible in a cloud of white smoke, the cigarette he never lit dropped on the floor and soaked in the water. A black shadow stared at him, its body jet black and the longer Dmitri stared, the thicker and larger it became, expanding and contracting, breathing. Its body dripped jet black ooze and bright red balls of light disappeared and reappeared, blinking. A wide, teeth baring smile appeared from the dark goo, a face and neck extended and leaned forward, inches away from Dmitri’s face.
“What.” Dmitri said, the only word he could think of, no scream, no curse words, just… what.
“I can help. You’ve been calling for my help for quite some time. Dmitri.” Its breathe reeked of dead animals, rotting corpses, left out in the summer heat, caught between the ships exterior, the salt preserved its body, Dmitri knew that smell, it filled his nose every time he cleaned ships, seaweed, dead fish, and dead animals.
“No. I would know if I called for you and I’m sure I didn’t.” Dmitri paused. “I didn’t.” He repeated.
“You need help.” The blob insisted. A long red tongue was visible behind the yellow teeth.
“And what help can you provide, huh?” Dmitri snapped, “Can you turn back time? Can you make Irene more faithful?” His teeth gritted and he dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands.
The blob spoke in a quiet, whispering voice, “I can make you stronger, less impulsive, I can make you a better man.”
Dmitri remained quiet, “Why?” He looked at the blob, his hands shifted, he rubbed the back of his hand, grabbing a small cloth bracelet and rubbing the charm.
“Because-“ The creature hesitated, it’s arms flung out and grabbed Dmitri’s shoulders pushing him towards the wall, “You need help, Dmitri, you called me, Dmitri, I am going to help you. I am going to help you whether you want it or not Dmitri.” Dmitri’s mouth stood wide as he stared at the shadow. “You shouldn’t question those who help you, Dmitri.” The shadow slowly pushed itself into Dmitri, the edges slowly spread out like flames of a fire, grabbing onto his body, clung to him tighter than the wet clothes.
“No! Stop! Get the fuck off!” Dmitri gasped his arms flung, trying to rip the shadows off of him, they wrapped and tied his arms to his sides. The goo pushed its way into his mouth, and Dmitri choked on the soft gooey darkness. The rain seemed to lighten up, soft sprinkling from the sky.
“Don’t… shh…” The blob whispered as it engulfed itself in Dmitri’s body. His body twitched and fought, then relaxed and he stood still.
Dmitri gasped and stared around, the blob had disappeared. The anger and fear he felt no longer lingered in his mind. Let’s go home. His feet moved, each step methodical, he looked at his hand, black goo spread through his skin like black ink dropped in water. Keep going. As Dmitri walked out of the canopy, he no longer felt water touch his body, the clouds were softer, lighter, a faint rainbow. Dmitri looked back at his hand, completely blackened with shadows, his body gave a shudder.
“I can’t stay out in public like this!” Dmitri screamed “I can barely move on my own! Stop controlling me!” A lone woman looked at him, eyes wide. Dmitri studied her, stepping towards her, shoulders broad, fist clenched, breathing heavily, “I’m a monster.” He whispered. His fist was clenched and his nails dug deep within his palm. Monster, monster, monster.
The woman stared at him. “What?” She cowered and stepped back. She smelled like fresh cut flowers, but her makeup was smeared, the buttons on her blouse were one off, her eyes looked doughy and innocent, but her heels suggested something else entirely.
Dmitri’s eyes had a soft, reminiscent look, before they flashed anger, “Whore!” He screamed loudly.
The woman took another step backwards, she turned on her heel and was about to run when the black tentacles ripped out of his arms and grabbed the woman, grabbing her neck and choking, the black gradually filled her entire body, and within seconds she had disappeared completely. Dmitri gasped and stepped back, he looked around, did I really just murder a woman, like that? He thought to himself.
You didn’t murder, I murdered.
‘But no one can see you.’ Dmitri thought to himself, ‘Why did you murder her?’
Could I help myself to such a beautiful specimen? She was far too gorgeous for this life.
Dmitri stepped over the space where the body once was, and his feet took off, Dmitri felt them running mechanically. ‘What do I call you?’
My name is Dmitri, just like yours.
Dmitri attempted to stop his legs from moving, but they continued on, regardless. ‘You’re suppose to help me control my anger, look at what you’ve done!’
Let’s not stop and discuss this Dmitri, we should be going home. Home. Irene. Home.
Dmitri whimpered as his legs rushed up the steps to the apartment. He slid off his coat and dropped it on the floor besides the door, running to the bedroom. Irene laid sprawled on the bed, like a puppet left by itself.
How hard did you hit this woman?
Dmitri watched her, ‘She just… she sleeps most of the day anyway.’
That’s good Dmitri, now to the kitchen.
Dmitri put no struggle as his legs stepped to the kitchen, he grabbed dried spaghetti noodles from the cupboard and set up a pot with boiling water, his hands moved swiftly through the refrigerator as he pulled out the tomato sauce. He set up a sauce pan and poured the sauce in, letting it simmer. Shadows moved alongside with him as he set the table with the nice china dishes and the candles from the bathroom, down to their last quarter of wax. His hands hovered over the table, remembering the first dinner they had together. His grabbed the matches and lit the candles, staring at the flame. His legs felt a heaviness and his buckled, he grabbed the chair for support and stood straight once again, his hand grabbed his wrist and adjusted the charm, continuing to stare at the flame. The smell of the tomato sauce as it mixed with the herbs, the vanilla candles scent wavered through the air. Dmitri set the table and waited patiently, food and coffee always woke her up. The bed creak as Irene rolled off, he pretended not to notice, straining the spaghetti and setting on the China plates, pouring tomato sauce over the noodles. Her feet dragged to the kitchen, groggy, and when she stepped in the kitchen she looked at Dmitri. Her eyes laid on him, the sleepy, dull expression on her face shifted, her eyes widened and she stepped back.
“What are you doing back here?” She screamed.
Dmitri held his arms out, “Forgive me. I screwed up.”
She slapped his hands away and pushed his chest away, “No, no! Never in a million years!” She stared at him, her arms held up defensively.
Anger swelled in Dmitri, his heart beat rapid. Keep calm.
“I made your favorite, my love.” Dmitri forced into a whisper, softly kissing her forehead. “Never again, never will I hurt you.”
She whimpered, her body leaned in his, “Dmitri…” She stared at him, how, he wondered, how could fear and love exist in the same person at the same time?
“I will never hit you again.” Dmitri assured, he reached for her arm and she flinched, staring up at him. “Never.” He repeated, softly. He coaxed her to the table and pulled her seat out.
“Dmitri, love, if we could eat tomorrow, I have no appetite.” Her eyes laid on Dmitri, her mouth slightly open. She watched for the opening sign.
Dmitri stared at the table, the candle, nearly out of wax, the food no longer steaming hot, the little black box he had set in the freezer, so he could pull out dessert with that alongside it, the corner of his mouth twitched, “I’ll wrap plastic over the top.” He looked at her, then at the plates.
“Oh thank you my love.” Irene said, standing up and placing her arms around his neck, Dmitri stared off in the distance, the shadows in the wall twisted and contorted, a faint screeching laugh in the distance. “Honey you have red on your shirt.” Irene’s voice grew higher pitched. There was a brief pause.
“Tomato sauce, love. Tomato sauce. We’ll just throw it in the wash with club soda.” He smirked.


Dmitri and Irene laid in bed, curled together, Dmitri staring at the wall opposite of them. “Are we over?” He asked, his eyes watching the still shadows the lamp and dresser made against the wall.
Irene stared at him, “Honey we’re… so far from over.” She kissed his neck softly and smiled.
No, no, you still need help. So much work to do, my dear child, so very much.
“I didn’t know you could be so… delicate.” Irene kissed his shoulder, Dmitri felt her chapped lips gently peck his collar bones, the shadow slowly moved across the wall. Their slowed breathing was the only sound in the room, Irene gazed at Dmitri, his chest rising and falling as he breathed in and out, his eyes half closed. His gaze left the wall and focused on her, the swirling darkness disappeared, as Dmitri stared at Irene, he breathed in the faint floral smell, and her smell, a sweet honey-like smell. He remembered the woman, the fear in her eyes as Dmitri approached her and the shadows grabbed her, he hid his wince and looked back at her.
“Marry me, please, make me the happiest man in the world.” He whispered in her ear, he felt the need to do it before the shadow creature told him to. Her eyes lit like fireworks, her smile, wide.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” She burst out, “Oh my god, yes!” She fell to her knees and kissed Dmitri, gave another cry of yes, her lips ran up his neck, kissing, until it reached his lips. She enveloped his lips, gently tugging them with every kiss. Her nails clawed in his back, “Yes.” She repeated one final time.
Dmitri closed his eyes and smiled. “I’m glad.” His eyes scanned her face, “It’s in the freezer, near the ice cream. The engagement ring.” He chuckled, “I would love to get it for you, but being here is more important.”
She kissed his cheek, “I can get it tomorrow.” She answered, laying her head on his chest.
“Good night, my wife, my love, my everything.” Dmitri felt the swirling darkness and flashing white sparks as he closed his eyes, a shrill cackle, and the sound of a woman screaming.


How does it feel to be a married man?
Dmitri looked around his bedroom, the sunlight bled in through the blinds.
“What happened?” Dmitri looked around, “Why aren’t I in a cell?”
Why would you be?
“I just had a feeling I would.” Dmitri mused.
“Honey are you up?” Irene’s voice chimed through the apartment.
“Hold on lovebug, I need to do my morning routine.” Dmitri pulled himself out of bed and dragged his feet to the bathroom, he let the water run in the sink. He stared at his reflection, dark circles laid beneath his eyes, the reflection stared back at him with a haughty disgust.
“Is it okay if I heat up the spaghetti?” Her voice rang through the apartment, an angelic choir.
“It’s fine dear.” Dmitri washed his face with water and poured the foam shaving cream in his hand, slowly patting it on his stubble.
“Honey are you shaving?” Irene walked into the bathroom, “You don’t work today, remember? You never shave on your off days.” She looked at him, slightly worried.
Dmitri blinked and smiled, “Of course.” He pulled the razor out from the bathroom cabinet, the orange case of pills right next to it. “I shouldn’t waste the cream though.” He gently tugged it down, the cream disappearing, leaving clean, soft, skin. “I also want to look my cleanest, we’re going out tonight.”
Irene squealed and smiled, “Let me know when you’re done shaving, so I can kiss you!” She giggled loudly and walked out the bathroom to the kitchen. “Where are we going?”
Dmitri stared at the mirror, the shadow raised through his body, his eyes turned yellow and his teeth grew sharp. The razor slipped and nicked his cheek, the blood mixed with the shaving cream. He screamed loudly and Irene cried out.
“Dmitri are you okay?” She ran through the kitchen and into the bedroom.
He looked at her, “I’m a monster.” He whispered. The shadows inched towards her on the door frame, just out of reach of grabbing her.
“Honey you look fine, it’s just a small scratch.” Irene smiled, wiping the white foam from his cheek. She kissed the newly shaven side. “I’m almost done with breakfast.” She whispered in his ear.
“How long does it take for you to reheat spaghetti?” Dmitri laughed. He stared at her, she was wearing his old sweatshirt, it hung limp against her, too many sizes too big.
“I’m adding stuff, you’ll see.” She turned and walked out. “Don’t forget your medication.”
Dmitri looked at the cabinet, “Yes hon.”
You don’t need medication. You have me. Dmitri stared at his reflection and finished shaving.
“Honey?” Irene called.
“Yes lovebug?” Dmitri answered.
“There is a pair of cops here to see you.”
The black shadows twisted and contorted, every fiber in his body told him to run, he stepped back, tripping on the laundry hamper, “A pair of cops?” He repeated. I thought I smelled bacon.
“Excuse me, Dmitri Perrolon, there was a reported suspicious man running around with your description in this neighborhood.” One of the cops called out, he sounded young, straight from the academy.
“We’ll I be sure to call if I see a suspicious man who looks like me.” He stepped out of the bathroom and smiled. The one who called out looked young, his hair was buzzed, his outfit crisp, the do-good smile on his lips.
We aren’t going to antagonize them.
“Would you please come with us?” The other cop requested, fatter, rounder, unshaven. He smelt of greasy hamburger, with too much onion stuck between the burger and the bun, and a hot dog with sauerkraut and more onions chopped between them, washed down with the health conscience diet cola.
“I would rather eat breakfast with my lovely wife.” Dmitri replied.
Both cops eyes narrowed. “You know, Mr. Perrolon, when people deny our request, usually they are hiding something.” The older one sneered. A cynic, far too old for this job and for this low level task.
Irene stepped in front of Dmitri, “He’s probably tired, he’ll go with you, he just needs to take his medication.” She eyed Dmitri, “He’s… impatient in the morning.” She smiled and waved, the engagement ring on her finger. “It’ll be for a brief moment dear. You’ll probably be back for dinner.”
The cops looked at Irene, “You must understand how suspicious this looks.”
“I understand.” She turned to Dmitri and grabbed his hands, “My love, please go with these cops.” She smiled, “I’ll be here when you get back.” A wink and another giggle.
Dmitri’s lips curled into a smile, “Yes, lovebug.” He walked to the cops, “Do I need handcuffs?”
“Do you?” The fat cop grunted.
Dmitri remained silent and walked past the two, they followed behind him.
“Goodbye my love.” Irene called from the apartment door, smiling.
Dmitri stepped into the cop car and sat down, the cops followed and sat in the front.
“Now we didn’t say this in front of the wife, Perrolon, but we have a witness.” The younger one said.
“Must be a case of mistaken identity.” Dmitri retorted.
“No, no. Your victim is still alive. You left her on the street.” The greasy pig sneered.
Dmitri tilted his head, “That’s not possible, I never attacked anyone.”
“She saw where you live. She followed you home.” The chubby bastard turned and faced Dmitri.
Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.
“I didn’t touch her, the shadows did.” Dmitri’s voice felt shaky.
Both the cops stared at him, “The shadows?” The younger asked. It sounded like a gang. The shadows.
Dmitri held out his arm, shadows flew around the car, through the fence that separated the cops from the backseat. “See? The shadows!” Dmitri cried. “Don’t you see?” His voice became more desperate.
Both cops stared, stone faced. “If you’re done playing, we’re going to question you now.” The false sincerity of the fat cop made the shadows wider, crazier.
Dmitri stared, “Stop ignoring them!” The shadows groped, grasping nothing. He cried loudly. “Stop it!”
The cops turned around and the greasy pig turned the ignition, driving toward the station. Dmitri leaned against the seat, the shadows slinked back into his skin, he glimpsed and saw his reflection in the top mirror. A giggling shadow winked.


“So, you take pills for… what exactly?” The older cop walked around the table and chairs. The walls were a grey color, paint chipped in some places. The shadows slowly crawled about, searching.
“Headaches.” Dmitri answered.
That’s right Dmitri, short answers.
“And what happens when you don’t take the pills?” The older cop asked. His suit wasn’t tucked, chest hair stuck out of the top of his shirt.
“Headaches.” Dmitri repeated. He looked at the younger cop who watched his companion closely.
“You don’t…” His eyes rolled, “Get angry and violently attack anyone who even speaks to you?” His shoulders shrugged, “Something like that maybe?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.” Dmitri answered, staring at his reflection, his mouth movements, the corner of his mouth as he smiled, seemingly innocent, yet all Dmitri could think of was knocking out the fat cop with one shadow, pounding his grease covered, unshaven face into oblivion, while another shadow whipped around and choked the younger cop. The reflection he was looking at didn’t show those evil thoughts running through his mind, it was completely separate, a different world, the reflection was a different person than he. A sudden searing pain brought him to reality, his nails dug into the palm of his hand.
“Well?” The older cop asked.
Dmitri coughed and looked away, “What was the question again? I was lost in thought.”
“What is the medication you take?”
“Ris-ris-“ Shadows rose from the walls as Dmitri attempted to answer. “Risper-something or other.” Dmitri’s tongue tied itself, his eyes looked around the room, they swallowed the grey and the walls became black.
“Risperidone.” The younger cop chimed in.
“And what do you treat with riiii-riii-risperidone?” The older cop sneered at Dmitri as he paced around the room. The younger cop watched him, his mouth opened.
“Headaches. Haven’t you already asked this?” Dmitri’s voice had an exasperated tone. “I could swear I’ve answered you so many times, I get really bad headaches and I can’t do nothing all day but lay in bed, I need Risperidone for headaches and if you can’t understand me then please, just leave me be or charge me! I’m tired of being pushed around by you because you have a badge and authority!” He stood up, his finger pointed at the cop.
“Do you have issues with authority?” The older cop walked to the table and smiled at Dmitri with a smug sense of superiority. His teeth grew sharp and yellow as Dmitri continued to stare.
Dmitri gave a weak smile and a nervous laugh, “I just- I just want to get home to my wife.” He answered, sitting back down. He cleared his throat, “Back to my wife.”
The older cop stepped back and grunted, “We already got you for the attack.” He answered, “And you aren’t getting off with some psych defense mumbo jumbo, you hurt that woman in furious anger and you’re going to pay time for it. Just admit you’re guilty and we’re done.”
The swirling shadows wrapped around Dmitri, “I’m not guilty.” He whispered.
“What was that?” The older cop asked. “I’m hard of hearing.” He glared at the young cop and there was momentarily silence in the room.
Just admit you’re guilty to the bastard.
“I’m guilty, okay? I-I didn’t mean to, but I hit that woman!” Dmitri stumbled on his words.
“Choked.” The young cop corrected.
Don’t mess around, just admit to it!
“You can’t remember your own crime?” The older cop growled.
Dmitri gave another loud scream and grabbed his head, “Choked! I choked that woman! I left her on the cement while I ran home! Just sentence me and get it over with!”
The younger cop remained quiet, “Let’s go to lock-up for the night.”
“I’ll take the plea bargain, whatever paper work I gotta sign to go to jail.” Dmitri answered quickly.
Both cops looked at him, “We’ll get this settled tomorrow.” They answered, helping Dmitri stand up. Dmitri watched the shadows envelop the world around him, men’s faces turned to brightly colored masks, as they stepped through to the jail cells, the bright orange jumpsuits of the other cellies where fluorescent against the black background, the shadows licked their outfits, their faces, hideous, laughter erupted and wolf whistles distorted as Dmitri stepped into his cell, he smelled the rank smell of piss and shit, the very same words he would describe his mood. His cellmate looked at him, Dmitri couldn’t make out his face beneath the shadowy coverage. A screeching cry pierced through, Dmitri felt the sudden urge to rip out his ears, his nails dug into his palms, the same pain that ran through his body as he stood frigid in the cell.
“Are you okay?” The words indistinct, sounding like his cellmate was underwater and not five feet away. Dmitri gave a dry heave, he felt himself gasp for air, yet he couldn’t breathe, he felt his legs collapse under his own weight. The gargled voices and the smell of urine faded, as blackness overcame Dmitri’s body, numbness, Goodbye, echoed in his mind, until everything had completely ceased to exist. His body twitched.


Dmitri blinked his eyes open and he stared at the judge from the defendant chair.“Dmitri Perrolon, you are hereby charged Not Guilty, with reason of mental disease or defect, however…” The judge paused, “You are to serve time for your crime in a mental facility, until it is deemed you are fit for society once more.” He banged on the gavel and Dmitri stood up, bowing his head, he turned and looked at the seats in the stands, the psychologist who spoke on his behalf and the two cops sat, watching, the woman he attacked sat on the defendant seat, all sympathetic towards him, but no Irene, she sold the ring for the lawyer. He followed the bailiff to the jail cells, keeping his head low, his thumb rubbed his wrist, where his bracelet was once tied.