I remember her fear more than my pleads. I’d never seen someone genuinely afraid of books. It was as if she thought the pages would give her a fatal illness.

“You don’t understand. Why aren’t you listening to me! You’re in this too. Help me. You have to!” I begged, my hands shaking.

She shook her head in disbelief. I just needed her to understand. I picked up one of the books that I’d had hidden in the air conditioner vent.

“Hamlet. You remember reading this in grade school, right? You have to remember. Please Margret.” I flipped open the book and felt the faded pages fly.

I read in a panicked voice to Margret, desperate for some sign of remembrance. “There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance. Pray you, love, remember. And there is pansies. That’s for thoughts.” I saw Margret relax just a bit.

She always had a soft spot for Ophelia. That’s why I married her. She was always so kind, my Margret.

“Do you remember that day we went to the park down by the old diner?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I was just… remembering.”

“Remembering what?”

“How pretty you looked in your dress, mostly.”

“Aw, Ry… You looked pretty nice in that shirt, too. It’s always nice to see you without all the sweaters and layers.”

“Didn’t I have a hoodie that day?”

“No, I don’t think so. It was hot, remember?”

“Hm. You’re right. And we ate watermelon that was the best, most crunchiest watermelon I’ve ever had…”

“Yeah, and fresh tomato sandwiches.”

“Still don’t entirely understand the appeal of those. But hey, if you like ‘em.”

“I do, thank you very much.”

“What else did we do?”

“Don’t remember.”

“Me either.”

“Can we go back inside? It’s freezing out here.”

“Yeah, sorry Bee. Let’s go back in.”

_In a hazy, evening glow, his face slips in and out of focus. I know that face, and yet I don’t. There are no concrete features. I couldn’t tell you what color his eyes were, or how tall he is, or the shape of his face, but I knew him. Deep in my soul, I knew that face. As recognition sunk in, I felt my stomach drop. My hands became clammy, my heart rate picked up; my once slow, steady breath, caught in my throat. His eyes connected with mine. A cruel smile formed on his face. One moment he was across the room, and in the next he was within inches of my face. _ __ _The scene began to take shape, just as I remembered it. The lights dimmed low, the plate shattered to pieces, the meal I made, scattered across the floor. The blood red stain on the carpet, right where the glass fell. The red began to spread, thickening into a gooey substance, that was more than just wine. He opened his mouth to repeat those words that still haunted me. As my body recoiled, and the fear crept up from my toes to my chest, the haze came back, and the scene washed away. _

My eyes shot open, my body flung upright. It took me a moment to reorient my self, to remember where I was. “It was a dream, it was just a dream.” I said out loud, to no one but myself. “You are safe, it’s over.” I took a deep breath, and held it until my lungs burned, and pushed it out. “He can’t hurt me again.” And yet, there was a small part of me that remained uneasy. He might be gone from the physical world, but if he finds me in my dreams, how will I ever know peace. He told me he would always find me, and he never broke a promise…

The tears are streaming down her face as she’s driving. The rain is coming down heavily, obcoring her vision even more. Her words keep echoing in her ears. “It was all a LIE!!” Sid threw down his shield badge and ID. “You’ve been working for shield this whole time! You lying sack of SHIT!”
Ron raised his hand in front of him. “Wait. Babe. I can explain.” “Don’t call me that! SCHEIBe KOPF!! I can’t believe I listen to you. I can’t believe I trusted you!” She started throwing various groceries at him. “Sid, I… yes, I was told to keep an eye on you.” He tried to explain, blocking and dodging, as he got closer. “But that was after I met you.” She grabbed a frying pan and held it up ready to strike. “Woah, Babe stop. Think of the baby.” “THINK of the Baby!! What the HELL do you think I’m doing right now!! Shield has running experiments on me when I was a kid. They don’t care about age” That’s when the tear started to flow. “I’m staying away from Shield because I’m nothing but a lab rat to them. And what the hell do you think they’ll do to our baby?! We’re not people to them Ron. We’re tools. Assets. Nothing more. That’s why I stay away from them. That’s why I fight them. And if you talked to me actually listen to me, you would know that.” His hands fell to his side. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…” “NO. You Didn’t.” Anger filled her eyes again. “They told me..” “They’re spy’s Ron. They Lie for a living.” She drops the pan on the counter. “I have never Lied to you Ron.” He looked up at her, her eyes filled with tears. “ I have Never Lied to you.” She turned and walked out. “SID.” She slammed the door behind her.

She whines the tears from her eyes. She grabs her cell, and goes to contacts and favorites. MD. She hits call, and speaker. 
Tree rings and he answers. “Hey kiddo. How’re you doing?” 
“Not good MD.” The tears are flowing again. 
“What’s wrong? What happened? The baby?”
“He’s ok. It’s Ron. You were right.” She starts to sob. 
“It’s ok. Are you driving?” 
“Yeah” 
“Ok. I don’t want you driving in this rain. Pull over somewhere safe and I’ll come get you. Ok?” 
Sid knodds with a sniffle. “OK. I’m on a bridge I’ll…”
*CRASH!!* The impact of the truck behind her throws her into the steering wheel. The seat belt biting into her 6 month baby bump. *CUNCH!!* POP!* The front of her car smashes into the side of the bridge, firing off the airbag in her face, throwing her head into the seats headrest. But the truck doesn’t stop. It just plows pas, pushing her car through the side guards and off the bridge into the water.

August Moon I remember you As you came to greet the sunset Seems you were dressed in all red Could see the shine in both your eyes

You spoke as if speaking to your own reflection You gave a harsh word with a sharpish inflection She cried into the night Now I’ve got you in my sights

Just me and you My august moon

Oh lovely moon, how I wish to hold you near me And calm you of your anger Let me hold you tonight Do you need someone to cry on You’re a star in denial

My august moon My closest friend I’ll love you dearly Until the end

Sitting at the edge of that church pew, your right leg was bouncing up and down next to mine. I crossed my left leg over my right to contain my shaking, placing my folded hands on top for extra stability. I took deep breaths to steady my heart. ‘Should I ask?’ I wonder.

Before I get the chance to overthink it, my mouth opens on it’s own. “Are you nervous?” I ask, leaning forward and trying to project my voice. People are always telling me to talk louder, and for once I want to talk to this person. You.

You turn back to me, warm brown eyes twinkling and you smile nervously. For a moment your leg stops bouncing and for only a second, I feel something pass between us. “A little,” you mumble, looking down at the ground, then over to the stage in front of us. I try to reassure you with a small smile and nod, but you’ve turned back to the other group singing by now. I’m tempted to reach out and grab your hand, but my brain has already dealt with enough of my body disobeying it.

‘I love you,’ I think silently, staring at the back of your head, as you wring your hands around your water bottle, taking one last nervous sip before we go. If only you knew, before it was too late.

He remembered her question; he couldn’t forget it. What’s the worst thing a woman could do to him? So many answers, so many directions he could take to answer. It wasn’t like a man, who could beat or manipulate or get him arrested, who could kill him or burn his house down. Those were threats he could understand, for which he could prepare or defend himself. With a woman it was completely different. The worst thing they could do was love him. To give him everything they had, and he could give them all that he had. They would have a life and a house together and he would think it was fine. Gradually he’d become aware that nothing was fine, that his best efforts and struggles meant nothing to them. That he was completely taken for granted and invisible, but he couldn’t slack in anything he did either. They were his jailers. The insidiousness of woman was incomprehensible. A woman could take even himself from him, and he would be left on the outside, cold and alone, trying to pry open the locked door with all the nothing that he had. She could hurt him to the core and it would never occur to her to feel bad about what she did to him. She would inflict the pain for his own good, because he deserved it for what he had done, because he needed to come to his senses. When he came back, broken and suffering, she’d gloat in her own way. He would rather be murdered.

Condensation ran down the hand, magnifying the words on the tap. Ryan watched it pool on the chipped wooden bar, rings permanently etched like carvings from too many thoughtless patrons who hadn't bothered using the coasters. At one point, Jerry, The Bar Next Door's owner, had stopped printing out the custom coasters, and just supplied whatever ones he could sneak away from other businesses.
Ryan ran his hands across his thighs, hoping to dry off the sweat and belatedly regretting it for the dark patch it left on his shorts. Micheal kept staring.

"So you're really doing this. Going to Japan." It wasn't a question. Micheal didn't ask questions.

"That's what my boarding pass says."

"One way. No return."

"Hence the checked bag."

"That's not a lot of stuff for a one-way trip, no return plan."

"Don't have a lot to bring. Besides, I can always buy when I'm there."

"Can you even read what you're buying." Again, Micheal didn't ask questions. He stated and expecting confirmation of his own intellectual superiority. Supposed.

"I did spend a year there learning Japanese, remember?"

Micheal didn't remember anything that wasn't about him. Unless it was about you messing up.

"So is this like our last drink then."

"Don't need to be so dramatic about it. It's not like I'm going off to war." Ryan stopped himself before he could get too short. Despite being his best friend, Micheal did bring out the sharpness in him.

"You're the one who couldn't get laid and bought a one-way ticket to Japan."

Chair legs screaching against the sticky floor. The defiant clink of empty glass on wood. Coins settling decidedly on the table.

"I don't need this from you."

"I'm the only one who's gonna say it to your face." Micheal getting up now too.

"Then save your breath. I don't want to hear it. I'm going."

"What's so great about this visa anyways?"

The only question of the night. Ryan would later realize it was the first sign of Micheal's own insecurity at having him leave.

"I've tried explaining it to you. At this point, I don't think you want to understand."

"I'm listening. Go on."

A deep breath. Other customers staring at the face off, wondering if they'll take them fight outside, or chicken out and sit back down. They do neither.

"This is my only chance to go home. To stay there. Forever. I have to take it."

"This is your home."

"I don't think it is anymore."

The crack of thunder, sudden onset of rain against the windows, car lights bleeding as they streak past. The promise of rain after suffocating all week. The pressure lifting.

"Home is where you can be yourself. Where people see you. Where you feel you matter."

"You're telling me some foreign place where no one looks like you, or speaks your language...that's home."

"Like I said, I don't think you want to understand."

The bell jingling as the door opens. A sudden rush of cool air, easing the tension in the bar. The bar next door. Except, it wouldn't be the bar next door after tomorrow. Ryan looked back over his shoulder at the man he'd called his best friend for the last 15 years.

"Drinks on me tonight," he said, turning the collar up on his shirt, as if it would protect him from the storm outside.

"I'll get the next round. In Tokyo."

"I'd like that."

"Bye then."

To this day, Ryan can't tell if he imagined Micheal sniffling as he walked away. He's not sure which is worse.

In the dim light of the early evening, Sarah sat by her window, her eyes tracing the fading outlines of the garden outside. The scent of blooming jasmine wafted through the air, stirring a memory she hadn’t visited in years.

It was a summer long past, the kind where the days stretched endlessly and the heat shimmered off the pavement. She was ten, running through this very garden, her bare feet pattering against the sun-warmed grass. Her laughter echoed around the yard, mingling with the distant hum of bees and the chirping of crickets.

Her father was there, kneeling by the rose bushes, his hands deftly pruning the vibrant blooms. His shirt was rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong, tanned arms. He had a way of working silently, the focused look on his face softening only when he glanced up to catch her eye. She remembered the twinkle in his gaze, the unspoken invitation to join him. She would often drop to her knees beside him, asking a hundred questions about the flowers, the soil, the tiny creatures that lived amongst the petals.

I can’t quite remember Was it last December? Was it day or night My memory isn’t quite right

I wish I could think The thoughts are on the brink It’s not like I forgot It’s just another thought

Was it last year or longer Thinking about it and ponder Wondering if you remember That’s right it was last September