he holds the back of my head like im a baby that needs to be cared for

and me, i’m clinging to his shirt like i’m drowning and he’s the only raft available for safety

anyone else who saw us would probably immediately start murmurs of “oh my god they’re together” or joke about a romance novel

but that’s not what this is

and i don’t really care because you and i, we know the truth and we know that this is us and this is our connection and as long as that’s clear i don’t give a damn what anyone else has to say about it

we don’t need labels or stress of what this is because inside we know even if there aren’t words in any language for us to describe it by

its just you and me

and for now that’s enough

The day my little brother went to prison, I cried an endless stream of tears that ran onto the collar of my shirt, making it look like I had a sweaty neck rather than a sibling who wouldn't follow the rules of society. For weeks I sat in my car longer than necessary and listened to the saddest song by Brandon Flowers (the one about the price you pay for doing something bad) and thought about Christmas, and wondered what they served in prison on holidays. For years after that, I hid my embarrassment and only shared what happened with my true friends, and even then I still held some deep-seated belief that I was personally tainted by his actions, because we're all somewhat guilty by association aren't we? Having been brought up Baptist and knowing how to successfully dodge guilt by repentance, I still spent my days properly mortified by the fact that my own brother pointed an air-soft gun (it may as well have been a real gun) at an actual person, demanding money and robbing a place of business. Three separate times.

During the 1990's, the ultimate Friday night ritual for us kids (kids being me and my brother, who hadn't yet committed a felony that would give several people PTSD) was to stay home and watch the TGI Friday lineup; this was usually accompanied by pizza or carry-out from a local restaurant. We loved these nights because it signified the beginning of freedom, as neither of us were very good at sitting still at a desk. For the next two days we had nothing to do, and that was exhilarating for two kids whose favorite thing to do was just that. Oh sure, we'd find activities to do at our leisure: play with our toys, ride our bikes, spend hours trying to dominate the Super Nintendo (Donkey Kong was our forte), but what we really loved about those days was simply being able to choose what to do with our time that we were given. My brother was four years younger than me, and when something exciting came about in our lives (mainly those glorious two days that inevitably came after Friday) he would squeal unabashedly, "Are you my best friend?!" And I would always answer, "Yes, are you my best friend?" There we were, just two best friends, eating pizza and killing giant bumble bees on the Super Nintendo.

My brother was a talented comedian from the moment he could talk. When the Talk Boy recording device came about, my friends and I would listen to "skits" my brother would perform and record in fast and slow motion for hours. His impressions of people were so spot-on that you could give him any person to imitate and subsequently find yourself in tears from laughing so hard at the ridiculous voices and words coming out of his mouth. When the Hale Bopp orbit was visible for a month in 1995, my brother wrote a song about it. He was 7. In high school, before he dropped out and things went mostly downhill, he wrote a song about our seemingly evil gym coach to the tune of Nada Surf's "Popular" and anyone who's heard it still remembers the lyrics, 20 years later. I like to remember him that way; a kid who wrote songs and drew pictures and wore his underwear on the outside of his pants just to make my mom laugh.

It's spring of 2019 and I'm on my way to visit my little brother at Blackburn Correctional Complex. It's still prison, but it's referred to as a "camp" because the inmates have more freedom (most of them are non-violent offenders, so it's not high security). The shock of it all has worn off by now, and we can interact as if we both haven't been punched in the gut by life choices. My brother steps out in his khaki prison garb, and we hug tentatively. Before he went to prison we hadn't hugged since we were little. Our conversations revolve around movies, politics, a little family (at this point, through death and circumstance, we have very few family members left to speak of). My favorite part of the visit is when he talks about his fellow inmates, in his own animated way: the guy who was a plaintiff on Judge Judy, the ex-wrestler with the high-pitched baby voice, or the female guard with the limp who looks exactly like Kevin Bacon. There has rarely been a moment with my brother where I didn't have tears in my eyes from laughing.

As the years go on, I am able to see some of the positives of what happened: my brother is within a few hours drive, he is off the streets and not ruining his life or other peoples', and he's still the same person who could make me belly laugh all those years ago (with considerably rougher edges). The truth is, I lost my brother long before he was locked up. Life took many turns for us, and sometimes we wandered through dark alleys; I managed to find my way out, and often he got lost. The future can seem bleak and sometimes there's an empty feeling in my chest that I can't seem to fill no matter how hard I try; while he's gone, he's not really gone, and if I had to guess he's probably making someone's drink shoot out of their nose from laughter at this very minute.

I found a lot of things when I lost my brother to prison years ago. Sure, I found that you can love someone and hate them at the same time (that became painfully evident when his mugshot was seemingly everywhere at once on social media and I wanted to launch myself into outer space until it was over). I found that with the emergence of Orange is the New Black, it's become sort of trendy to have a relative in prison. I found that people will change and make mistakes (some with dire consequences) but the past doesn't change. My brother might be a felon, a criminal lost in a dark alley, but there's also a part of him that is still just a silly kid who writes funny songs and imitates people to get a laugh. There might be a small part of him who's still my best friend.

“Eric?”

Prince Eric’s overworked brain just barely registered that his name had been called at all, as he sat hunched over the desk in his private study. Shuffling some papers around, he picked up a pen and signed the bottom of a particularly important document. Unfortunately for the soon-to-be king, the pen exploded in his grip just as he scratched the final letter of his name—a generous blob of black ink pooled on the page in front of him. The document was ruined, no question. The papers would have to be drawn up again—an unwelcome and time-consuming task.

“Great,” Eric griped, using a handkerchief to wipe the excess ink from his hand and fingers. “This is gonna stain.”

He haphazardly tossed the soiled handkerchief aside, and the square-shaped cloth hung limply off the corner of his solid mahogany desk.

“Eric?”

“Hmm?” the prince grunted, finally acknowledging his new bride who sat patiently in the study waiting for him to finish his royal duties for the night.

“What’s fire?”

“Huh?” Eric looked up, this time, to see Ariel seated in a plush armchair overlooking the fireplace. From his vantage point behind the desk, he could only gaze at her profile, but he could tell that her features were twisted in a profound concentration. The gears in that wonderful brain of hers—under that shock of voluminous red hair—were quite obviously turning, and Eric thought her completely adorable.

“What’s fire?” repeated Ariel, stretching her hands toward the flickering flames in the hearth.

“It’s heat and light,” Eric answered plainly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

“But how do you make it?” Ariel persisted. “When we entered the study earlier you struck a... a... what’s the word?”

“A match.”

“Oh, right... a match. Then, you tossed it in the fireplace and the logs caught flame.”

Eric nodded.

“How did you do that? Do humans wield magic, too? Like Daddy? Like Ursula?”

“No, it’s a chemical reaction.”

“Is this related to more of that... what’s the word? That science stuff you’re always talking about?”

“Yes, that’s right—chemistry, in this instance.”

“But... why does it—what’s the word—burn?”

“Fire occurs when a flammable material, in combination with an oxidizer, is exposed to a heat source—” Eric automatically began rattling off what he remembered from his lessons during his schoolboy days, but stopped abruptly when he noticed Ariel staring at him quizzically. ”—It’s... it’s a chain reaction.”

“I still don’t understand,” Ariel groaned, grabbing fist-fulls of her wild, flowing hair. “I feel so incredibly stupid since becoming a human bean—”

″—Being, darling, a human being.”

“Interesting. Daddy just called all people barbarians... or fish-eaters...”

“Well, now, that’s somewhat offensive. A fair number of us are vegetarian.”

Naturally, some other folks were strictly pescetarian, but he wasn’t dumb enough to tip her off about that. He had already banned all fish dinners from the palace out of due respect for his bride’s unconventional origins... what more could the prince possibly do?

“Human being, is it?” Ariel queried.

“Yes, being.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.”

“That settles it, then. I just barely comprehend how anything works here on land. I’m just... dense, that’s what it is.”

“You’re not stupid,” Eric assured, before rising from his seat and strolling over to her. “These concepts take time to learn. Most people amass their body of knowledge over a lifetime... as they grow from a baby to a child, to an adult—you’re doing it all at once! So... no, darling, you’re not stupid. Please, don’t sell yourself short—I won’t stand for it.”

At about this moment, Max padded into the room and dropped a slobbery rubber ball at Ariel’s feet. She giggled, and apparently not the slightest bit bothered by the copious amount of saliva that coated the toy, picked up the ball, and gave it a hard toss. The ball sailed out the open door, and Max—a massive fur-ball on four legs—bounded after it, barking happily.

“He’s a good dog.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“What?”

“There’s nothing wrong with a man telling his wife that she’s unearthly beautiful, is there?”

“No, but we weren’t talking about—”

Eric suddenly grabbed Ariel by the hand, pulling her from the armchair, and planted a kiss square on the lips. She didn’t miss a beat, however, and threw her arms around his neck, matching his kiss in perfect rhythm.

“How’s about a quick science experiment?” Eric asked when they finally parted.

“Sure!”

“You wish to know how fire burns. Is that right?”

Ariel nodded vigorously, her big blue eyes twinkling at him.

“Um...” Eric ran his fingers through his thick hair. “Ah. Okay, here.”

The prince snatched a silver candlestick from its spot on the mantle, dramatically plunked it on his desk, and rhymed, “Jack be nimble. Jack be quick. Jack jump over the candlestick.” Then he reached into a side drawer and pulled out a box of matches.

“Who’s Jack? Is he a friend of yours?”

“Uh, never mind that for now, but we will certainly have to carve out some time to read nursery rhymes together. All right, back to the experiment.” Eric looked up at her as he struck the match, “Fire requires three ingredients, if you will, to burn: oxygen, fuel, and heat. You learned fire is hot the hard way, didn’t you?”

With a frown, Ariel looked down at her pointer finger. “Yes, and it still hurts just thinking about it.”

Eric chuckled, “I warned you not to poke around near the fireplace.”

“Yes, you did... but I was far too stubborn to listen to your sage advice.”

Here he paused to light the candle’s wick and then blew out the match. Ariel was hanging on his every last word, and Eric reveled in her rapt attention.

“Fire is a result of a chemical reaction—that’s called combustion. Notice how the wax melts and gets smaller? Once something’s been burned, it can’t ever be un-burned. It’s forever altered, chemically.”

“It’s so beautiful and captivating,” Ariel said, admiring the dancing orange flame.

“It’s also dangerous,” Eric cautioned seriously. “But to put out a fire, you simply remove at least one of the ingredients—then it can’t burn. Do you remember the three ingredients?”

“Oxygen, fuel, and heat.”

“Precisely! That’s my girl!” Eric grinned, proudly. “We’re going to remove the oxygen.”

“How—”

″—Watch.”

Eric moved back to the mantle where a small, but stately, golden clock rested nobly underneath a glass dome. He carefully lifted the glass from its wooden base and returned to where his wife stood eagerly waiting by the desk. Slowly, steadily, the prince covered the flickering candle with the borrowed dome. Gradually, the flame began to die down, until finally, the light was snuffed out completely, and only thin wisps of smoke remained swirling around the candle.

“See? Once its air supply was cut off, the fire ceased burning altogether.”

“Wow, that was amazing! You’re so smart, Eric.”

“Aw,” Eric felt his cheeks flush slightly, “I’m no more intelligent than the average man.”

“Just accept the compliment, mister,” Ariel poked him in the chest.

“Yes, ma’am, if you insist.”

Ariel kissed his cheek.

“So, that’s why fire burns. Are you satisfied? Is your curiosity satiated? Has your never-ending thirst for knowledge been quenched?”

“Well...”

“Now what?”

“I’m glad to know what’s a fire, and why it burns... but...”

“But?”

“You never explained how the match catches fire, in the first place.”

Eric ran his hand along the side of his face. He would never finish his paperwork at this rate—he was going to hear about it from Grimsby, that much was certain.

“Well, when you strike a match against the rough strip on its box, that creates friction... and friction creates heat. Rub your hands together, Ariel—that’s friction.”

Ariel rubbed her palms together a few times, then asked, “But what’s the fuel source? You said fire needs fuel to burn.”

Eric laughed, “That’s right! And here you were thinking you were dim-witted... the end of the match is coated in some kind of combustible substance, like sulfur or phosphorus, sometimes powdered glass... the particularities aren’t important.”

Ariel smiled at him, “Thank you for always making time to teach me. I know it must be a tedious undertaking, but you’re always so kind and patient... and loving.”

“I’m here for you anytime. Do you have any further questions about our impromptu science experiment?”

“No, you’ve answered all my questions thoroughly. I feel like I’m up to speed.”

Eric chuckled, “That’s all right. Somehow, I suspect you’ll have another whole list of questions for me tomorrow.”

“Oh, definitely.”

The young prince took her in his arms and kissed her again. He truly loved this woman. She was beautiful and bold, and inquisitive, and the fact that he occasionally had to stop everything to explain seemingly the most mundane aspects of humanity—was a minor inconvenience, when he considered the trade-off. It was all worthwhile if he could be withAriel always.

Eric scooped Ariel up, bridal style, and she squealed with laughter.

“Ready for bed?”

“It’s still early. I’m not at all tired.”

“There’s no law that says beds are for sleeping, only, you know.” Eric wiggled his dark eyebrows suggestively.

“But you haven’t finished your paperwork... and you said it was of the utmost importance.”

“Oh, well. Who cares?

″Grimsby cares—you’re going to get an ear-full from him at breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“Then I’ll deal with that tomorrow. I’ll simply tell him: ‘Grim, I’m the prince and future king—I’ll decide when and if I do any tiresome paperwork!’ ”

“Oh, I’m sure your approach will go over splendidly.”

“Grimsby can’t boss me around, the old dinosaur...”

“Dinosaur, am I?”

Ariel gasped at Grimsby’s unexpected entrance, and Eric, caught quite by surprise, accidentally let Ariel fall from his arms.

“Grim—”

“Ouch!”

“Oh. Sorry, darling,” Eric stooped to help his wife back to her feet. “So, Grim, I—”

″—Your paperwork isn’t completed, I take it, Eric.”

“Not in its entirety...” the prince admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his ink-stained hand.

Grimbsy glared sternly at the prince, which caused Eric to shrink back in guilt and embarassment. Sir Grimsby’s frame was pin-straight, his suit wrinkle-free, and his shoulder-length gray hair was pulled back neatly and tied with a single silk ribbon. In short, the gentleman’s whole countenance conveyed an utter lack of amusement.

“I left you to review those documents hours ago. You have had ample time to accomplish this uncomplicated task. Eric, you are to be King within the next year. You must begin taking your royal responsibilities all the more seriously.”

“Please, Grim...” Eric complained through gritted teeth, “not in front of my wife... you’re making me look incompetent.”

“You’re absolutely correct, Eric,” Grimsby replied.

“I am?”

“Indeed. Rather than bore the young lady here, I’ll escort her on a leisurely evening stroll through the palace gardens. You, in the meantime, can remain in this very room until all your work has been finished—and by that I mean—every i dotted. Every t crossed. Every last page dated and adorned with your royal signature, do you understand?”

“Yes, of course, Grim.”

“Very well then... with that, I shall bid you adieu, Your Highness, as it appears you are going to be burning the midnight oil, so to speak.” His demeanor changing suddenly, Grimsby turned to the princess and cooed affectionately, “Come along, my dear, the gardens are lovely this time of night—I’m quite partial to the yellow variety of roses, myself. Did you know that the yellow rose symbolizes friendship and happiness?”

“Why, no, I didn’t. How fascinating...”

“If we’re lucky, Miss Ariel, we just might catch a glimpse of that sprightly little nightingale that has made its nest in the old knobby tree, near the hedge maze.”

“That does sound delightful...”

Speechless, Eric watched as the older gentleman, his cherished friend, left the study while leading his precious Ariel away gently by the arm. He stood there frozen in place for a minute or two, then flexed his jaw a repeatedly. Grumbling, the prince ambled over to his desk once more and hunkered down to finally finish what he had set out to do originally. If only paperwork weren’t so menial, and dull, and long-drawn-out...

Feeling supremely defeated, Eric grabbed hold of his pen and sighed with dejection, “This—what’s the word?—bites.”

~Fin~

“I’m telling you dude.” Mav gnawed at his steak quesadilla. “She’s into me.”

“What makes you say that?” I wiped my cheek with a finger and coughed. He got the message and mopped his face with his napkin.

“Well she looked over at me.”

“Or she was just looking out the window.” Asaf interjected.

The Pantry Diner seemed more crowded than usual, especially on a Tuesday afternoon. However, the food still remained as fresh as always.

“Can we move on from the girl that looked at you from across the diner?” I sighed. “You do this every time we’re in public.”

“You’re not wrong.” Mav shrugged.

“I’m single too, and you don’t see me lasering random chicks with my stare.” I managed to suppress my own laugh with a grin. “So, onto more pressing matters, we gotta talk about the final in Intro to Calculus.”

“Are you gonna finish your veggie omelet?” Asaf pointed at my food.

“I’ll give it to you if you help Mav and I with math when we get back.”

“Why would I put myself through that?” He swapped the positions of our plates.

“I don’t know, you’re pre-med.”

“It doesn’t work like that man.”

“Why not?” I furrowed my eyebrows. “They’re practically the same thing.”

“Hardly.” Asaf dug into my omelet. “Dumbass.”

“I hate to interrupt your love affair guys.” Mav sipped his coffee and burped. “But there’s a real shady guy checking you out, Leo.”

I looked to my left, then my right, and Mav spoke the truth. A man, around 5’11, wearing black skinny jeans and a plain blue t-shirt, brooded at the diner’s bar. He held up two fingers to the bartender and smiled at her, then returned his gaze to me.

“Staring at someone for more than five seconds in a row can be considered sexual harassment.” Asaf mumbled with his mouth full. “It’s definitely been more than five seconds.”

“I don’t think Leo is into that, Asaf.” Mav whispered.

Asaf face palmed.

“I think I know him.”

“Is he part of that ‘mysterious past’ of yours, eh?” Mav chuckled.

I glared at him and his smile faded.

“If he doesn’t want to share his life before we met him seven months ago, he doesn’t have to.” Asaf jabbed my shoulder.

“Be right back.” I stood up, walked to the bar, and sat next to the man.

“Long time no see, Leon.” He nodded.

“Noone’s called me that since ‒”

“Athens.”

I scanned him one more time before realizing who sat next to me. “Therron, you bastard.”

“In the flesh.”

“What in God’s name are you doing here?” The bartender placed a Corona in front of me, and a Corona light in front of him. “Really? A light? What happened to you over the past decade?”

“Nothing too exciting.” He took a swig of his beer. “Collected a few big bounties while you’ve been running away here in America.”

I looked away. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Alright buddy, listen.” He set his beer on the coaster and turned towards me. “We get why you left Athens, after what happened, but I’m here to tell you that they’ve caught up with you.”

“You’re lying.” My tone raised, and some strangers glanced at me. “That’s impossible.”

“I wish I was.” He leaned in closer. “Their in Atlanta, Georgia right now, and something tells me it didn’t take them this long because you hid well.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s a lot of them, Leon.”

“What’s a lot?”

“An army.”

I inhaled and rubbed my forehead. “This is bad.”

“You had to have seen this coming.” He placed his hand on my back. “You’re literally running from Fate herself.”

“I’m aware.”

“And she’s caught up with you now.” He removed his hand and went for the Corona light again. “You weren’t supposed to survive that car accident ‒ hell ‒ she designed it just for you!”

“What’s done is done.” I chugged my drink. “I had no choice.”

“That’s a load of horse ‒”

“What was I to do then, huh?” I threw my arms in the air. “Just die? I didn’t believe in all these cosmic entities until one of them gave me a second chance, and I’m not going to throw it away just because another one is pissed.”

“I’m not judging you on your choices ‒ I can’t. All I’m saying is that Fate has got a nice golden thread with your name on it, and you can’t run from that forever. Moving from state to state every eight to twelve months is not good enough.”

“Interesting conversation you two got going on there.” The bartender furrowed her brow.

“Nothing to worry about.” I giggled at her and turned to address Therron, hushing my voice. “Then tell me what to do.”

“You need to stop running and fight this head on.”

“How do we fight Fate?”

“I have no idea.”

“Which entity did I bargain with?”

“No clue.”

“Do you know how to make contact with any entity in particular?”

“Nope. I know how to find their servants and emissaries though.”

“Well this is a great start.” I set a ten dollar bill on the counter and rose from my seat. “But we need to get out of here now and figure this out in some place less… public.”

“Good idea.” He finished his beer. “Say goodbye to your friends over there.”

I approached Asaf and Mav. “Hey guys, I gotta run, something came up.”

“So you know this guy?” Mav took a bite of the giant chocolate chip cookie.

“Yea, we go way back.”

“I’ll take it.” Asaf slapped the table. “Anything to get me out of helping you too fools with math.”

“Is everything ok?” Mav removed a crum in the corner of his mouth with his tongue.

“Yea, but I really gotta go.” I dropped a twenty on the table. “I’ll catch up with you guys later, ok?”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.” Mav stood up and green light flickered in his eyes.

“No way.” Asaf looked at me, then at Mav. “Am I the only one seeing this?”

“Nope.” I took a few steps back. “You should run.”

“Oh, there’s no need for running.” Mav smirked.

“What’s taking so long?” Therron strolled over and noticed the scene. “Oh.”

“Pleasure to meet you in person, Therron.” He stepped out from behind the table and walked up to us. “I’ve heard much about the Greek bounty hunter.”

“Who is this guy?” I inquired.

“Judging by the green in his eyes, he’s gotta be an emissary of Life.”

“Come agai‒” Mav waved his hand in front of Asaf and put him to sleep before he could finish his sentence.

“Yes, excellent observational and deducing skills!” He clapped. “Your appearance this side of the world has put a bit of a wrench in my mother’s plans, Greek, so you’ve forced my hand into action.”

“That doesn’t sound good.” Therron inhaled sharply.

“Your days of running are over, Leon.”

“Over my dead body.”

“That’s the idea.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Yea… I coulda come up with a better retort there.”

“Why have you allied yourself with Fate?” Therron placed his hand on the holster on his hip. “I thought none of you hooligans liked her.”

“Well, we don’t, but this little charade of Leon’s has gone on for far too long.” He turned to face me. “Do you have any idea how many lives have been influenced ‒ how many lives have been lost ‒ because you decided to run from your fate? Your destiny?”

I peered over at Asaf to see his eyes darting around under his eyelids. “Destiny can shove it.”

“Everyone thinks that.” He chuckled. “At first.”

“You still haven’t told us why you’ve allied with that thread-weaving hag.” Therron blared.

“The reason is simple enough that even your puny brain can figure it out.”

My long-time friend squinted his eyes in thought. “Because life is being lost due to his existence…”

Mav nodded.

“Surely not just lost, though.” Therron scratched his head. “The outcomes of a break from fate are not limited to people dying. Others that were not meant to live can be living as well.”

“Like Leon.” Mav rubbed his forehead. “I’ve indulged you two long enough. Now, bounty hunter, step aside.”

As his hand reached for my head, Asaf’s eyes erupted, emitting a soft shockwave, and the entire diner froze, except him, Therron, and myself.

“Always can count on Time to be a party crasher.” Mav spoke, but his body remained idle. “I can’t believe I didn’t see through that disguise, Tempra.”

“Odd.” Asaf — or Tempra, as Mav called him, snickered. “I saw right through yours.”

Mav growled as he struggled to move. “Taking sides now, are we?”

“That’s none of your concern.” Asaf’s voice echoed. “That won’t keep him contained for long. Time sends his regards.”

“That’s our cue.” Therron grabbed my arm and rushed me out of the diner. “Get in the silver Subaru Outback.”

“You’re kidding. “I hopped into the passenger’s seat. “Very inconspicuous.”

“Thanks.” He floored it and got onto the main road.

“So I was thinking.” I adjusted the seat position. “If Life is after me, why not make a deal with Death?”

“Sure thing.” Therron honked the Toyota Camry in front of him and it moved out of the left lane. “Why don’t I give Satan a phone call too while I’m at it.”

“What?”

“Have you watched no movies or TV shows?” He glanced at me. “Read any books?”

“Plenty, why?”

“A deal with Death never ends well for anyone except Death.”

“Ok, so how about we try Time and find Asaf again?” He sped through a yellow light. “Apparently he’s on our side here?”

“Time is a bit fickle.” Therron checked his rear-view mirror a couple times. “No telling what his agenda is and I don’t wanna find out.”

“So then what’s the play?”

“Remember how I said we should fight this head on?” He floored the gas pedal. “Yea, I lied. We’re running.”

Closed eyes as I lay to sleep.

Preyed on by crows for meat.

Listen close for the heart to beat.

The pulse stops while the crows feast.

Deafened ears and heavy feet.

Fade to black as I lose my peace.

Rest my head all nice and neat,

While my mental health has fallen steep.

In my head the memory keeps,

Of the past that felt so sweet.

Picked apart by every piece,

Until theres nothing left for the crows to eat.

The young timekeeper stared at the object before him. He moved his hand toward the device, then something hit his hand.

Young timekeeper: ‘‘Ow!’’

‘‘What do you thing you’re doing lad?’’

Young timekeeper: (chuckles nervously) ‘‘Who me?’’

‘‘Yes, you. There’s no other young person in the room kid.’’

Young timekeeper: ‘‘Well, I~ er— just getting ready to figure out what this- um..’’

The kid points to the ticking device.

‘‘That my curious lad is the Truselao.’’

Young timekeeper: ‘‘What does it do?’’

The elderly timekeeper looked at the kid and smiled. The questions never stopped with this one, it was one right after the other.

‘‘Come join the rest of the group. We are getting ready to watch the comets play against the novaes.’’

The look on the kid’s face said it all. The young timekeeper was excited to see his favorite teams play a round of hye on the dunes.

He wondered if there would be any surprise on the field. Sometimes a creature would bust from a side of a dune & the game still had to keep going.

They walked over to a doorway that had a surge of varying energy that shifted from a peachy tone to indigo in nanoseconds. It only took them a few seconds to arrive from one side of the timekeeper’s vault to be transported to the desert of Gaetu.

#Enigma.

I usually make the first move. Nuzzle the neck. Exhale, slightly-heavy. Lips graze. Bite down on the collar bone. Slip my hand up the throat. Make it impossible for mouth to not move to meet mouth. Make it the only thing either of us can think about. Impossible for eye to eye contact to not end in eruption-collision. But you were different. Ache. Throb. Ache. We sat still. Ache. Throb. Ache. I held your hand. Fingers laced in front of our faces. Fingers tracing fingers in front of our faces. Slow. Too steady. Burning. Burning. Timing-protracted. Ache. Throb. Ache. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Hold. Hold. And nothing. Breath hitched in throat. And nothing. Nothing. Always nothing. My hand squeezed yours in defeat. Quick pressure. Stalemate-resignation. I pulled back. Ready to take my loss. And just as I reached the edge of out-of-your-reach, your hand found the back of my neck. Your mouth meeting mine in starvation. Pressing. Scrambling. Fervent. It was fevered pulse of waiting. Violent rush of can’t-get-enough. It was hands and skin and teeth to teeth. Scratching, grasping. Graceful lacking. Heat-swelling. Buzzing relief of culmination. It was feed-me-full. Satiate. Let you mine the truth from my mouth.