I reached down to grip an apple from the colorful stand it sat upon. My hand, grazed by an individual, with, when I glanced up, met my perfect blue eyes. He grinned as he looked down at the apple we both held.

"So...you like good apples", he stated with a velvety voice that protruded from his mouth hole. I chuckled and blushed.

"Yes, I do like good apples, what's your name?" I spoke with a shaky voice, groin quivering.

"Actually...I prefer bad apples. I'm Adam. " He replied with the whitest smile I had ever seen. And that was the moment I knew, love still existed at the grocery store. And within that beautiful moment, people could still jot down our story as a gooshy and grotesque love story that wins a competition.

April showers bring May flowers, at least that's what my mother used to tell me. You see...April was my aunt who used to babysit me when I was a youngin'. "A growin' boy with promise", my Aunt April would whisper as she tucked me into bed. Her hair was golden yellow, like flowers, I always thought. She grew them biggin' sun flowers outside by her front porch. I would swing right o'er them on her porch swing when mama drove away in her beattle. I know it looks like I did it officer...but Aunt April told me everything would be okay. I was her boy, she said, always her boy. She said that she would always be there for me and that I had to be there for her. You see, mama tried running o'er them flowers o'er by that porch one day and I knew it wasn't right. I tried stoppin' her, cause I was scared if she ran o'er them flowers Aunt April would be mad at me again. I had to stop her from killin' those flowers, officer. It was only right. And that officer, is why I had to murder my mama. 

I bite my lip. It's pretty dry. I should find my chapstick. I'm pretty sure I left it in my jean pockets...nah. I'll wait. 

Fingers find the keys: New paragraph. "The tiger found its prey under the bushes..."

Wait...maybe I left it in my jacket pocket. Maybe the chapstick is in the dresser drawer. I don't know. Tigers...what do they if they find something strange. Maybe, like, something human. Like an amulet. Would they know it was valuable? No. But it would be pretty cool. Wearing it around the jungle...like a boss. Hah. I like that. 

Fingers find the keys: "...a shiny object...cold...very shiny" Enter key. 

Why am I going that direction? It doesn't even fit. It would be a better direction than what stupid Peter said to do...

Back key pressed several times. 

Fingers finding letters: "...a furry, warm and small grey rabbit."

Ugh. Why does Peter have to be in charge. I'm the one who does the grunt work. I'm basically the tiger. Yeah. And he's the rabbit. Hah. Peter the rabbit. I like that.

Fingers press in: "The rabbit stares blankly up at the tigers hungry eyes. A brief moment escapes time before the-"

Before...the...wait. End? Ugh. Still don't know. All I know right now is that my chapstick is somewhere and not grazing my lips. My lips are like a desert screaming for water. Am I just thirty? Maybe the rabbit should escape...

Fingers rush at the keyboard: " THE RABBIT"

Damn caps. Stupid fingers.

Fingers smash the caps lock button, then continue: " The rabbit..."

Why is that clock so loud? It hurts my ears. And my lips. Seven o'clock....already? Crap. 

Fingers press on: "...runs away." 

Stupid peter rabbit. Should have eaten him. 

A cigarette was lit.

Beyond the horizon was a dying sun, pleading for more time.

Cedar trees surrounded my porch, extinguishing the view.

Drowning the light, I inhale the smoke.

Each breath I seize, relaxes my muscles.

Fatigued, I settle in my wicker seat.

Gawky, I fumble for glass beside me.

Hollow, but filled slowly with chilled liqueur that warms my esophagus.

Imaging a different scenario of the night's skyline is unachievable.

Jaw draining the liquid I pour, sip by sip.

Kissing my liver with anticipation.

Ligament by ligament, my surging bones extended past my seat, reclining further.

My recollection of the earlier afternoon floods through my brain.

Next door sits my neighbor.

Our acknowledgement of each other was expressed with a quick head nod.

Postage separating us like countries, yet close by proximity.

Quietly we took in the last in of the days sunlight.

Receiving our last serotonin of the hour.

Sanctifying what could be the last bright horizon we view. 

To us, the sun meant another day.

Unison, we took another sip.

Vying for time, we competed for purpose.

What we couldn't understand, stood before us.

Xerosis threatens our eyes to dry as our gaze aggrandize before us.

Yellow dips to purple and pick hues.

Zest envelopes our beings as we couple to gaze the end of our glorious day.

"Sir I-"

"Ma'am"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Offend? You who can barely make out a sex, yet you stand before us to attest."

"Ehem...Ma'am, I was there that night and I can assure you I didn't see him in the room."

"Seeing seems to be a problem with you. Where were you exactly that night?"

"I was at the Remington Lodge, I had decided to join a few of my friends-"

"Rilington Lodge, you mean?"

"Yes...right, Rilington. As I was saying, I -"

"You're honor, can we please dismiss the defense and move to a more reliable source?"

"Wait, can I please finish my story? I have good memory of the night and I-"

"What can be said of your memory thus far? You who, growing up in this part of town, should know one of the most well known establishments of the city?"

"I misspoke, Rilington was the correct place, my nerves have gotten the better of me-"

"And why would nerves change a story? Hm? It seems to me, and the jury can agree, that your words and body language tell a different story under the light you stand under. When a judge is necessary, we must all judge the ones who stand the platform...no more questions."

Grief. The sense of missing, an opportune lost.

It wasn’t the stain I wore on my shirt that day you laughed at me.

Nor was it the feeling of shame that spewed across my face.

It was that tiny moment after that sent me across the universe looking for hope.

I searched in awe, an incongruence my body forced on me that my mind disagreed upon.

Grief, my distress, my anguish. It was too late as my mouth spit out the words, “that wasn’t me”.

But how it was and totally was, my enemy, my mortal brain…me and only me.

Not I, nor her could have known my fist would propel in anger towards you. My face, a mask, wouldn’t for one moment share my innocence. I betrayed my own being, yet was fully one with who I was.

Grief can only be a dual person living within. Without her, Grief, I wouldn’t be watching your lifeless body from a television screen. Without her, Grief, I wouldn’t completely be myself.

For it is because of her, Grief, I am prescribed a dose of poison to calm her down, a prayer for sedation.

Grief, as loving as she can be, decided against me that day and sent you far away.