Suburban Lunch Break
“Soy-chai latte!” the cute girl yells out behind the counter. Her ill-fitting pants sagging as her muffin-top bulges over her belt and her shirt rides up exposing a bit of back hair. She has a sweet smile and she knows what I like to order.
I hate her.
I smile because she knows what I want to order, but I swear to fucking God if she’s the one who makes it again I will kill myself, or her. She somehow can make anything taste like it was a mocha-something-something. Unless you order a mocha, then it’ll taste like anything but mocha. I hope she wrecks her car and dies on the way home. I will read about it in the paper and smile.
Fucking God, could this line take any longer?
The next person orders, only two more to go and then I can order my drink. Why do I even fucking come here anyway? It’s a fucking chain and all they do is rob from the poor to feed other corporations. I’m the 99%, right? Why am I putting up with this? Jesus Christ if this line doesn’t start moving faster I will neck-punch the asshole in from of me.
Cathleen, I think her name is. Such a sweet name. There are five people working and there’s only been two drink orders since I walked in. Why is it taking so long? I should call the manager and give him a piece of my mind. He’s a dick anyway. I’ll just call the anonymous number they give out: “How are we doing? Call 1-800-fuckoff”.
Oh God, that homeless guy is back. Please don’t come in, please don’t come in, please - fuck! Fuck!
“Hey, Chester!” they say behind the counter. He walks up and they give him a cup of water and he smiles a toothless smile. I fight gagging. He smells better than most homeless people, but come on. This is a place of business. Does he really need to come inside? Can’t they take the water out to him? That would be nice, right? If he brushes past me again I will throw up on him. Last time he brushed past me he got muck on my suit. It was probably his own shit. No, really, they should just take the water out to him. It’s more sanitary.
One more to go and then I can get my fucking drink. ”Mocha latte frap!” the cute girl named Cathleen yells out. The guy in front of me has a pot leaf on his hat. Real classy, guy. Subtle. No one knows what you do on the weekends. I bet you like art, too? Fucking dick. He’s paying with a credit card. Probably stolen. I don’t know why people like him think it’s okay just walk around without shame. I would never give him a loan if he came into my bank looking like that.
I have a 30-minute lunch break and fifteen has already been wasted on the drive here and waiting in line. Fucking hell, people, I just want a coffee. Is that too difficult? Could you get your shit together and just -
“Hi! Mocha Caramel Chocolate Java Chip light, no whip, as usual?” Cathleen smiles at me.
I nod, she scribbles something on a cup “You’re Cathleen, right?”
“Uh… Casey.” She holds her smile. ”You’re Tom, right?”
“Yeah.”
One of the drink makers goes on a break and they all shift positions.
Fucking kill me. Shoot me dead.
“That’ll be six seventy five!” Cathleen - or whatever her name is - says, smiling and walking over to ensure my drink tastes like ass.
I pay and leave a .25 cent tip. Don’t say I’m not generous!
Fucking hell, this drink is disgusting. ”Have a great day everyone!” I smile as I walk out.
My parents weren’t complete assholes, they taught me manners at least.
thicker than blood
Cobwebs have formed over our past. All the ships have wrecked. The walls are breaking apart, and I find that my enemy has become like my best friend. My pain is my will to survive now. Revenge being a thirst I am afraid to fully quench.
Living to kill and waiting to die is a life, not the best, but all I know.
Sometimes I think I live in the future. I wonder when the cars will fly past me instead of drive and I wonder if I will know I’m dead by then.
We’re marked from birth, I think, some of us. We know who we are, because we’re told from the beginning, and we accept it because that’s what feels right. It becomes the only thing we feel after a while, and we know we’re meant for the battle. We were born of blood and of hate and we carry it like a badge, praise the Lord.
You wouldn’t know I carried a gun on my side, and you wouldn’t guess I know how to use it. You and your children, we pass it from generation to generation. Only, I’m the last of my name.
In a sense, I suppose you won. Your side is the victor because you carried on and you adapted and you can wear a pair of shiny new shoes and everything you buy is new and that life fits you well.
But the day I come in. The day you see my face will be your last. And if it’s all I do, the only thing I have left in this world to accomplish, my name will live on from the lips of your children and your childrens children.
They’ll tell of the day when the stranger with a limp came to your door and took back what was his.
They’ll know my name because it’ll be the last thing on your lips before I take your life and end the feud. Maybe you’ll kill me, too, but even if you don’t I won’t last much longer.
My face. It’ll be all they remember. Yours will fade and my face will be in their dreams, my name will become their nightmare. I will be more to them than you, my memory is forever in your death.
This is my promise. Forever and ever. Amen.
Flowers are blooming and I am Dying
We danced in each others dreams.
It took a forever’s time for the world to stop fighting, for the bombs to stop falling on all of our heads. And when we did, all we had was our dreams.
The nuclear war ravaged the soil, it ripped our hearts out and destroyed our souls. When it was over, all we had left were the machines, and sleep.
So, we downloaded the dreams of the dead into the our memories, and we plugged ourselves into the machines and we slept.
Technology is evolution and it advanced without us.
We slept, and the world healed, and the machines cradled us as we danced in each others dreams.
We live forever here, in the world we created from our own destruction.
And the flowers bloom without our help.
spots
There’s a weird taste in your mouth afterwards. And you realize it was probably there the whole time, because you were choking back vomit and swallowing snot and phlegm and trying not to choke on your own tears.
A few spots of blood have nested in your hair and on your face. Your hands are red. Your shirt is soaked in red and you can’t tell if you pissed your pants or just spilled crimson all over yourself, because you wore your black slacks today.
You tell yourself that you did a good thing and ignore that the blood sprayed you enough that it more than likely got in your eyes, up your nose and in your mouth. You have bits of another person inside you now. Their X and Y’s are just hanging out and your body is trying to expel them with everything you have in you.
The car ride home is easier to handle because you at least cleaned yourself up a bit before you set the house on fire. There’s nothing of them left in the house, the blood has surely burned away by now.
In your trunk there are pieces of another man. A man who did something bad. A man who needed to go away, and so you broke him up into little pieces and now that taste is in your mouth.
But the world. The world is a better place now. That is what you say. Over and over, to yourself. The world is a better place.
It doesn’t matter if you believe it, because he’s gone, or he will be soon enough. You will tell everyone that the road trip was fun, as you drop pieces of his body all over the states. Little by little as the stench grows worse and worse, you will drop his bones to crack and dry on the side of the road to be picked apart by the crows. Coyotes will eat him.
You will get a new car.
You will smile in public, and sometimes even when you’re alone.
You will try not to think of this.
You will kiss your child on the forehead and tell her with every certainty that the bad man will never hurt her again and she will believe you because you are her knight in shining armour. You are her hero and her savior.
And you always will be.
ew
I straighten out my glasses, because I have to look perfect.
My tie is crooked. I fix that, too.
It’s not so much acting normal that I mind, because really I don’t. I know that’s expected of me. it’s that… when they’re with me, when I have them tied up and taped up so that they don’t cry… they seem to hate me.
I know they don’t, because how can they? I love them, and I take care of them. I told tie them up so they don’t run away, because they’re scared and in a new place. It’s like having a pet. You have to keep them inside, because you don’t want them getting hit by a car, or stolen from you. You have to keep them safe.
I have to keep them safe.
But, they cry.
Every time.
They cry.
I tell them over and over how much I love them, and I show them, but they still cry. And, I really just want them to understand why I do what I do. I have to tape their mouths because they cry so loud, and I can’t have the neighbors calling the police on me.
Because I have to look normal.
I have to act normal.
I have to pretend that I’m just like you so that you don’t think that I’m wrong, or different, or become scared of me and stop trusting me with your kids.
I do love them. I do. And they love me, too, I know they do. I know it…
another way of seeing it
I woke to the sound of the phone.
The bed had been shaking, but I thought it was only a nightmare.
You told me you loved me and I smiled, because I love you, too. Nothing at all could make me stop. The shaking only worsened and I knew what it meant.
I listened to the sound of your voice, telling me to sleep, and telling me that everything would be okay and I knew. I knew that you wanted to imagine I was sleeping in bed, peaceful as the world cracked apart.
The sky rained fire and I told you I was fine, and that I loved you, and that I would soon be asleep. The bed stopped shaking and didn’t take another step. The world began to crumble and I was floating. I could feel the air being sucked from my lungs, but I pushed myself to the window.
And I saw the stars.
The sky.
I saw the world crumble and I didn’t close my eyes. Not for a single second. I watched the world die. And I waited for you to come home.
doe
I can’t feel the cold, but I’m guessing that’s not a good sign.
It’s been snowing for days and I’m just laying here, staining the white flakes with my goddamn internal fluids and I don’t feel a thing. It’s actually really beautiful.
I’m not a fucking hippie, and it’s not like I don’t dig in on the turkey at thanksgiving, but I swerved the car anyway. I swerved because the damn thing looked at me and froze and I thought, I would freeze, too.
And then, I didn’t freeze. How fucking ironic, yeah?
It’s really beautiful, you know. There’s snow and it’s dark enough, even with the car lights flickering, to see the stars. That goddamn deer.
I turned the wheel so sharp and there was no one around me. But, there was snow. So much snow, and then I was here. And the sky is beautiful. And my sweater is ripped, and it has deer on it. And all I can think is that it’s beautiful and I’m not even cold.
I’m not even cold.
I’m not even
miso
The plug goes in and it only stings a little. The side of my head might not have been the most discreet place to put my upgrade, but it’s easier access when I want to hack something. Just plug it in and go.
Easier to run away.
The computer code rushes into my head unfiltered. All 1’s and 0’s in infinite combinations and I have to act without thinking. I learned how to do this, but it doesn’t mean I won’t fuck it up. My brain will eventually turn into soup and melt out of my ears. At least I will have had a few good hack years.
Nothing is quite like it, because it hurts. A good hurt. That kind of hurt you get when the girl you love says hi, but doesn’t really know you enough to remember your name. There’s still hope left in it somewhere, because maybe in time she’ll learn your name. Your heart hasn’t been broken just yet and there’s still time for that, but she doesn’t know your name yet and so it hurts… but, a hopeful hurt. A hurt that says there’s still something left to live for.
And that’s what this is. It’s my brain translating computer code. It’s my mind seeing something that I couldn’t see without a plug inserted into my brain. It’s me living a life that wasn’t possible ten years ago, in a world my father never could have dreamed of.
It’s me, living on the brink of technology and touching something for a brief second that I will never become fully.
One day my brain will pour out of my ears into a soup bowl and all that will be left is a shell of a has-been hacker. But, oh god… does it hurt so good.
it’s not the end of the world
The earth was shaking and all the cars came to a stop.
Braking, they all slammed to a red-lighted stop. The night sky was cracking and I could see the moon break apart. The sun was burning brighter than my eyes could take, but still the sky was black.
Technology being what it is, I called you on my phone. Your voice was sweet and I knew that you were sleeping when the phone rang.
“Hello?” You spoke, still partly sleeping.
“You sleeping?” I asked.
“I was…” you said quietly as I got out of my car, the earth cracking beneath my feet.
“Then sleep some more,” I said. “I love you.”
And the world split in two.
the tail of a fish
The wind cut through me like scissors on pretty Christmas paper. My breath was gone for just a second, my lungs rejected the cold chill of the air.
We stood on the mountaintop, looking down at the sea. The sky was grey and cloudy, the water blue and dark. I could just jump now, cut out the sad goodbyes and tears. Leave it at this and nothing more.
But, I won’t. I wouldn’t. I will always say goodbye.
I’d rather the pain of a thousand knives inside my chest at the parting of ways then to walk away unnoticed. I’d rather my heart break, because I would always know it was there. I could always remember as long as my heart would break.
It was what I’d wanted, really. A chance to live like this, for once. A chance to not just dream, but live. Experience what it was to be human, to walk and talk and breathe and live. I wanted this, and now it’s mine. It’s mine, but soon will end.
“Your eyes are the color of the sea,” I said. “Not the part that you see now. What’s underneath. Your eyes are like home.”
We held hands and I waited. I waited as long as I could.
“Not much longer now…” I said, taking off my clothes. The cold bites so hard, so deep, when you’re not used to it. I’d felt the cold plenty, but never the wind. The chill of the air on my skin. Goose bumps. Never before.
I felt it coming and I unclasped our hands, walking to the edge of the cliff and waiting. Waiting as long as I could.
One last look back before it was too late. “I love you,” I said.
And I jumped.
I spun through the air, rushing towards the water without fear. Heartache and tears, but no fear. I was going home. I was on my way now. Soon.
The water stung as I split it apart and landed in the deep. The ocean wrapping itself around me as my body changed, remembering its true form and how to breathe under water. I stuck my head above the waterline, looking at the edge of the cliff. My eyes said goodbye, but they were too far away to see.
I turned and swam away, always remembering what I had. What I felt. What I touched and who I was on dry land, and knowing that I would always be here, in the water. In the ocean, in the sea. Anywhere I wanted, as deep as I could go, but never above the water. Always swimming, always searching, never finding.
Never reaching the one I love.
