You’ve never been one to stick your nose in your neighbor’s business. But what to do when they start poking around in yours? A recluse, you typically keep to yourself. Your curtains stay drawn and your deliveries stay contactless. You prefer it that way. Hard to be a bother when you practically don’t exist.
That is all well and good until you spotted those eyes. One little crack in the curtain was all it took to bring the peeping Tom. Though, you’re not much to look at. You may have worn your best juice stained t-shirt if you knew to expect company. Dashing to close the breach, you seem to scare away the intruder. A young man, maybe teenager? Typical.
He watches often now from the safety of his home. He thinks he’s slick with just the tiniest sliver of curtain to expose him. You see him. Your eyes don’t miss much. Let him come. Come in the dead of night when you go out to capture your next juice sack. This one is nearly dried up. Perhaps this is the young man’s mother? Her eyes are familiar…
Yes… he will come.
“Did you get Mittens dropped off at the shelter?” Mom called from the living room.
“Yep. Yea, all taken care of,” Dad said stiffly, glancing at me then back down to the groceries.
I sat staring at nothing. It felt like my hands were melting. Why do they have to sweat so bad?
“You want a cookie, bud?” Dad was eying me critically. It wasn’t said but we now shared a secret that mom can’t know. A secret I don’t want to keep. I just know that if mom finds out, she’ll kill him. Then, he’ll worse than kill me.
“Sure.”
My hands were shaking. My eyes burned. I blinked trying to push back the tears. They seemed to just collect into pools that began spilling over. I crammed the cookie in my mouth and ran to my room.
I lay with my face in my pillow. Tiny shudders interrupted my impression of not existing. Tears were searing as they left but icy when they smeared against my face on the pillow. I sniffled once, twice, damnit all. Snot just oozed down my lip. Can’t afford to have anyone think I’m crying.
I heard footsteps outside my door. Dad or mom? Get it together. I smeared the snot on my sleeve and tried to use the same sleeve to dry my eyes. Stupid. Faint metallic clicking sounded as a hand softly turned the doorknob. “Not dad,” my thoughts screamed. “Please not dad.”
“Bubba, where’s Mittens?”
It was Jimmy. I pretended to be asleep.
“Bubba?”
It was silent for a long time, but eventually I heard his little footsteps heading down the hall. Jimmy can’t know either.
(No time to finish, but I think I did the prompt. The cat never made it to the shelter is the secret 🤐)
(TW: alludes to sexual assault)
You aren’t the type to investigate a woman on a mossy stone slab in the middle of the forest. You’re also most definitely not the type to consider a “Prince Charming meets Snow White” situation as a feasible means of picking up chicks. But, here you are, broad on the table, out cold. You think it must be a joke, yet you’re moving closer. Wow, this is big date r*pe vibes, yet that little voice in your head seems to have called in sick. She’s stunning, you think, allowing your eyes to molest her unconscious corpse; perhaps just a peck? A soft sobbing reaches your ears as you feel her lips quiver beneath yours. You open your eyes for the last time, who knew eye sockets went that deep?
(Another try at second person, don’t mind me 😅)
The brisk winds scare away most. If not that then the heights. Old New York has been known to draw those with old souls. You’re no exception. You might have been running late if it weren’t for the desire to get up here and take in that skyline. Consequently, you’re right on time. The last kid late to parkour was doing burpees the entire practice.
(Wanted to try second person 🤔 it’s a fun challenge I might work with more often.)
“Hand it over, now!”
George’s eyes drifted from his triple stacker double Swiss, double pickle, light mayo on toasted rye to a tremble-handed gunman.
“I’m sorry, young man, this is my lunch.”
“I don’t give a fuck about your sandwich!” He batted the savory stack to the ground. “Wallet. Phone. Keys. We don’t have all day, OLD MAN.”
George sat a moment, pondering the flaps of Swiss being accosted by a rather plump pigeon.
“You really shouldn’t have done that, kid.”
——-
George found himself considering his life. It wasn’t a particularly bad life. Not a particularly good life either. He thought about his time at war with Shaun -Shaun made the best triple stacker double Swiss, double pickle, light mayo on toasted rye. These damned delis have never got it quite right.
He considered his time with his wife. She was a lovely woman. Far too good for him. She knew it too. Always nagging him about the list. Her incessant lists… He kind of missed them. He missed her.
“Did I leave the oven on…” his thoughts wandering. “No, wait, I was just about to-“
—-
George’s body lay motionless. Pigeons scattered, a woman screamed, a child was crying. A man with a stolen gun was seven dollars and forty-three cents richer. George didn’t carry a cell phone. Nor did he drive his car to the park.
“Shame to spend all day yapping to a little rectangle when there’s real people just outside.” -George
“Shame to waste a good day stuffed in a tin box.” -George
|Rest in Peace George - taken too soon, gone to rest with his beloved wife|
(TW - dysphoria, anti-LBGTQ language)
Am I man enough, dad?
Gotta check my man card, Checkity check, checkin check- War, women, and greed. Tell stories to keep him pleased.
Am I man enough, dad?
Or you still makin’ jokes behind my back? Funny haha, yea, I’m a f*g. Don’t mind me, I’m just a drag-
Who is, she?
No one, I swear. Look over here, I’m shooting guns in war gear. Proving with my life-
That I’m man enough, dad.
No stop- Look at the man card, please. House, wife, and kid. Mowed lawn, and friends. Big beard, no tits…
I’m done, dad.
Yea you knew it, Congratulations, You happy? You’ll never know her.
I hope it’s worth it… I’m not a man, dad.
You know heartbreak? It kinda feels like a tummy ache. Is that because I crave you? I want to consume the memories staining my brain. All the good times that wash away the bad. Or is it because I hate you? Promises made. The blood that we bled. We were puzzle pieces that didn’t fit. People don’t talk about that. That “never meant to be.” Nothing romantic about a lesson.
“You changed.”
I know.
I grew up. So did you. We grew apart. That doesn’t stop the cravings.
“It’s been so long.”
I know.
Doesn’t mean I forgot the taste. Doesn’t mean I sleep nice. Wanting to live those years again.
“We can’t.”
I know.
“It could have been perfect if you were different.”
I know.
“We were supposed to grow old together.”
I know.
“I loved you.”
I know.
“Maybe just one time. Take me back one time to when it was perfect. Consume me, I’ll be yours for just a moment.”
…I have a tummy ache…
I’ve heard those words before. That face, that smile, Your laugh, your style.
Am I just another? One of those guys, Repeating Stars?
What creates “unique?” Manufactured, Cookie cutter.
Price tags on the shelf, sad. Squeezed for a buck. Hey, out of money, dad.
I want to be unique, Like you, Just another one.
"It wasn't me!" Gerold's mustache quivered as all eyes in the room traveled from the corpse to his blood-stained hands. Gerold was kneeling over Jessica with white shock on his face.
"Get away from her you monster!" Gerold wasn't sure where the fist came from, but he found himself handily beaten and gagged, a steel spurred boot catching his ribs for good measure.
"We can finally end this madness," Jeremy said, gesturing to the pile of corpses in the dining hall. "Arnold, Petricia, Maria, Tom, and now Jessica,” Jeremy spit.
"All of this was quite entertaining for me." I hovered over them, taking in the fine furnishings that once defined my existence.
"A simple invitation letter, a little murder, then watch the rich bastards squirm. You can't imagine how dull things get after one hundred years of floating and wailing in the night. Stuck in my silver nighty from the day of my death. Ghosts can't change, did you know that? What I would do to slip into my velvet silks once more - take a sip of stiff tea in the garden."
Five sullen, transparent faces looked up at the young man in his silver nighty. One, the woman Jessica, began to wail.
"No, no. None of that. I have much to teach you."
