The Lords of Doom mobilise their first rank, but they haven’t lined up the next ones – it’s like they know they’ve already won.
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“Hug?” Maisie held out her arms. Manrika accepted the hug and asked if I did hugs as well, to which I quivered a ‘yes’. When she hugged me, it was like a rush of euphoria to the head - and other places which I will spare the details of. Emulsify me, please. Let me rest in your scent and just aimlessly melt. God, her scent. Is she even aware of how nice she smells? Then my mind snapped out of it and I convinced myself of the possibility she might just like men. Seeing the drabness of some of the guys in the nightclub, Fever, I can’t sympathize with people who get the appeal of them.
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“Look, I get that you appreciate her very much and she’s a lovely girl,” Nick reasoned, again trying to accuse me of crushing on her, “You just need to let yourself feel.”
“What? The last time I let myself feel I ended up caring so much for a piece of shit,” I riposted before melting into a smile, “She’s really pretty, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, she’s pretty, but are you sure you’re straight?”
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He examined the ash trees, inspecting for withered and sickly leaves, and came away satisfied to find none. He checked for broken sticks and impressions of boot prints in the mud but only the usual residents presided there, the snails and ants navigating through their miniature dwellings.
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I fell on one of the final days of the third month. It didn’t hurt, no one said anything, not even the trees. I wasn’t expecting them to. I was a bit sad but not scared. I could be part of the trees now, of the soil and the earth. But I would miss my friends regardless.
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To say Graham was elated not to be a father was an understatement. Sure, it was a solitary life, living alone at his age, but he figured some men weren’t built for fatherhood. He was one of them. He’d have frustrated his kid too much, and vice versa. His house would’ve been filled with slamming doors and stomping footsteps, like his own childhood home had been.
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Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite as romantic as we’d intended. The wind was sharp, and we weren’t dressed for the weather. We shut your car’s doors with overenthusiastic thuds and stretched our aching legs, only to find our breath coming out in bursts of mist. It wasn’t long until we started shivering.
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The last time I saw Cole was September 11th 2001. A date which would become one of the most infamous in American history, synonymous with people falling from the sky like the announcement of the end of days.
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Rain rejects the scorched soil below, desperately reaching toward the merciless clouds above. I wonder what those unfortunate droplets did to be exiled from the barracks. Perhaps they were deserters, parachuting down with silent grace, like those dancer girls in the pictures. Did they fall upon the abrasive farmland and have second thoughts? Could they ever find their way back to the heavens?
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A perverse camaraderie manifests in the courtyard outside the church. Timid murders of friends congregate ashamedly, forming shallow alliances under the mist of cigarette smoke. An unforgiving wind sets this June afternoon apart, polluting the sun's light.
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Darkness was simple and predictable and, though I didn’t know it then, allowing darkness to dominate my peripheral vision would be the last time I ever felt in control.
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The four of us were playing, rushing down the street on our bicycles. We moved from side to side, competing in a game of chicken with the cars.
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