With these memories I will always cherish, though you will never know of them. I was a fool to think I could have you, to make things work out better than they did before and before and before. I bend and fold the fabric of time messing and skewing the line, in hope that this would play out as I wanted it to. As maybe you wanted it to. There is no way I can tell you that I will break and shatter your love for me. Is it better sometimes I wonder now, to let you feel it or to never feel it. I’m a fool, that’s what I do.

I never liked seeing you cry, my heart would sink to my stomach bob and turn with the waves of feelings for you. I tried to the best of my abilities, or I like to think I did, to be someone as wonderful enough to be loved by you. But the cost was heavy and high. I am not sure you’re reading this or you will ever find this. But the end goes like such.

Arms and tears, I held you while we sat on the bed. I try to tell you that I am sorry. If I knew my own meddling would have created this, I would have, maybe stopped myself. Your tears bear truths as they are absorbed into my shirt and my skin. I run my fingers through your hair and across your back. “I can change.”  I whisper to myself. “I am not sure you can.” you whisper back. I felt the words through my chest, breaking open my rib change, but instead of guts there’s silence, nothingness. You slowly pull away from me as if you weren’t sure that was what you wanted to do. I let your hair and skin slide from my finger tips. I needed to let you go, I didn’t want to, but I did. I sit on the bed as you phone your mother, I can hear the muffled sound of lies and the holding of tears. The door slams and the engine starts. I remain still on the bed. My body aches again and I wish for you. But I knew what I had to do. My device lets a small amount of ease slip over me. I think of then of how I stole you. The switch is flipped and the room vanishes.

I sit in the cafe, and outside. I can see them both. I was hardly there, but present in three spots. The first me leaves and the second one watches. He makes his way to the door and I hurry after him. The door closes before I can get to him. I watch me from the window as I approach you. Your face lights as he sits down. He moves his hands while he talks, I can’t hear what he is saying but the words are still fresh. Watching them I begin to forget my presence, as if I turned into a ghost. I haunt this memory as it unfolds in front of me. They leave the cafe but it’s still clear what I need to do. I collect myself off the pavement. And use my device to head home. The house is cold and lifeless, as if every piece of furniture was there just to merely spite me. I fall onto the bed, pain returns for a second then I am numb again. I want something to come and fix everything.

My thoughts are murky as I wake. The bed feels huge, as if an island I alone inhabit. I try at first to remove myself from the apparent vacancy of you. I cannot. Running my hand over the empty side of the bed, like the shore to this island it is smooth but cold. Your headlights shine through the windows, swiping their way across the room. I turn myself, as if to bury everything in the sand. It becomes hard to breath as the bed moves. I roll myself over to you. The ship of us had sailed, but now it run aground. I feel your body as it trembles or my hand does. Would this be our last night would this be our last song. I try my best not to cry, but soon my pillow is drenched.

Her feet slowly descend, but once they touch the cold floor she hurries to me. With lips still blue she places my broken head on her lap.  Her hands slip as they examine my face. A tear breaks free and lands on my cheek. A surge of pain courses over everything, the world becomes less solid. I focus on my mouth, I try to move my jaw but it pops. My mouth starts to fill with the taste of pennies.  She uses what little strength she had left to help me to the bed. I feel confused and frustrated. Her feet make a pattering sound on the hardwood as she goes for the first aid kit in the bathroom. I exhale through my nose and my pants are soon covered with a red spots.

The alcohol burns something wonderful as the cotton comes in white and leaves pink. We barely exchange words, as they seemed hard for me to come by. She dabs and swipes, trying her best to mend this busted facade. I tried to clear my thoughts to focus on what happened and why. Her brown eyes almost burn into a yellow as she stares at me. I begin to lose myself in them; I try not dive in, to bury myself behind their love. The alcohol burns again and I pick my head up. It felt as if my thoughts were wondering aimlessly, not one could be saved. They would soon appear and then within nearly immeasurable time they would disappear into the ether.

An hour passes and the fog clears, I open and close my mouth, each time it gives off a click than a pop. The kettle whistles in the kitchen, though it sounded as if it was going off in my head. She hands me some jasmine tea, the honey feels wonderful on my throat. “What the heck happened?” she asks while quickly taking a sip of her tea. “I am not sure; he was over you, I panicked…” I pause to let the embarrassment wash over but she continues for me. “I had an attack, he saved me or you saved me.  Gosh, I don’t understand…” she takes another nervous drink, I do too. I really didn’t understand myself. I place each event in little boxes and arrange them in my head. The line, over time, becomes clear. I set the tea down and walk into our room. She follows right behind me. It lies on the nightstand; the steel gives a small glow from the ambient light. It’s cool to the touch, I feel an ease wash over me with its familiar touch. I turn to her, with a kiss on the cheek and a pull, her and the room disappears in front of me.

The living room is warm from the morning sun leaking in from the windows. I quietly move my way to our bedroom. I place my ear to the door, all is silent. Without a sound I move to her purse that sits next to the door. I undo the zipper slowly, it look as if I was defusing a bomb. I reach into her purse. That’s when as if by bad luck all the contents inside work together to make as much noise as possible. I move my hand faster, searching hard when I find it in a notch on the side. I have it in my palm when the memory of this flashes back. I pause; I could barely hear him pull the hammer back. I’m glad that I ask first before shooting. I turn and stare myself in the eyes “Shit- this isn’t supposed to happen.” I said as he lowers the pistol. While exhaling slowly there’s movement behind him and he turns. The moment opens and I take it.

The room is dark; it takes some time for my eyes to adjust. I hear her trying to pull air in. To take, but it does not give. I take her hand, the hand with the cast fumbles with the inhaler in my pocket.  My index and middle finger form a clamp and I pull it out. I shift it to my good hand and place it against her lips; I can feel a slight pull as I push the plunger down. Her lungs rise, as the other me wakes. I hear the pistol fall in between the bed and wall. He swings for me with his right, letting go of the inhaler I catch it before it hits me. His momentum carries him off the bed. I try to find the inhaler in the blankets. I hear him stand, I try to yell at him, but it comes out as a moan and a sigh. He swings at me, I narrowly duck missing the blow. My fingers touch the smooth plastic of the inhaler. I grasp it, as he takes hold of me. Wrapping his arms and legs around me, her chest moves up and down rapidly as I struggle with him. I use my elbow to strike him over and over until his grip loosens. I am not sure what took over me, but he lies on the floor as my boot flies towards his face, my face. I pull the kick but the force was already applied, I hear something pop, and he’s out. I push the inhaler to her lips and push down again. The air ways open, trafficking of air granted. Her lungs pull and gasp. I kiss her on the forehead and hide in the spare room.

I listen to the pattering, the moving, the talking, and the burning of alcohol. I want to step out, tell them everything. To avoid this, but my feet stick to the floor as if nailed there. I just couldn’t, I just couldn’t move. A drink crosses my mind as I hear the kettle whistle.  I set myself in the patched up desk she uses for sewing. Some minutes pass and I hear her cry. I gently set myself next to her on the bed. She folds her arms around me, making my shoulder wet.

She stretches her arm to pull him close, to hold him, but he’s gone. The empty spot, turns into a void. She feels a pain in her chest, one that she can’t quite recall the name for, but it’s recognizable. One foot at a time she slides into her slippers. The smell of coffee leaks into the bedroom. Tip toeing her way to the door, she stares at him while he smokes. His body lacks any familiarity because of the peep hole.  She slowly opens the door trying to be as silent as possible. The door gives her away with a squeak. She hears him curse under his breath as she moves through the opening. She wants to love him, she wants to smother all his fears and doubts into her, have him surrender. But they won’t go down without a fight. Wrapping her arms around him, she feels his back straighten and the muscles in his neck become rigid. “I’m sorry- I can’t do this anymore, the pretending that everything is alright.”  She whispers into his ear. She feels him swallow, his answer isn’t what she wanted, she wanted a chance, and he doesn’t want to give her one. The door closes behind her with a squeak. Her chest feels tight, she looks in her purse for her inhaler but it isn’t there. With a well placed thumb and index finger she squeezes the bridge of her nose, she somehow lost the one thing that could save her.  She drinks some water and lies back down.

The petal at first is cold, quickly though, almost friendly, it becomes warm under her foot. She wasn’t very good at sewing with this machine, but it took her mind off of things. A getaway she didn’t know she needed. The curtains she’s trying to construct starts to take shape. She feels the cloth, the rattle, the push and pull of the machine. It calms her. Back and forth she lays the stitch where it needs to be. He rubs her shoulder as she removes the music from her ear. “Do you have a second?” he asks, she lets a loose pin push into her thumb, she doesn’t know why but she likes it. “In about a minute, I am on a good stride.” She said giving him a fake smile. The pin gets closer and closer to breaking the skin. He removes his hand from her shoulder and she removes hers from the pin. Placing the earbud back into her, the petal feels cold again as her barefoot slides over it. A slight push and the machine is alive.

The song fades out as she folds the finished curtain. A smile creeps in and she feels happy about this small accomplishment. Before the next songs starts she hears a whimper from the other room, she pulls the headphones from her ears and listens. The whimper returns and she’s moving to the source. His head tosses around in an effort to escape the nightmare. She shakes his shoulders, this does not wake him; she fetches a glass of cold water. Again she shakes him. He wakes with a gasp, then another, and another. She uses what muscles she can to have him sit up. Water spills on the floor as she tries to hand him the glass. He drinks and gasps once more, but this time more controlled. “Are you okay?” she asks as she brushes the bangs from his sweat covered forehead.  “Yes, now I am.” He said with a slight sigh. “You want to talk about it?”  She asks as he pulls his legs closer to himself and she sits down. A moment passes that neither of them could get back. “Well?” she asks. “Just a bad dream, I was drowning.” He said trying hard not to make eye contact. She studies him for a another moment than speaks “I think that means you’re being overwhelmed, I can tell something is bothering you, and has been for a while, I can’t say I wouldn’t be a little hurt if you don’t want to talk about it, but if you give me a try I can be a pretty good listener.” She finishes by placing her hand onto his knee. She watches him fight with the words as if everything in him was either going to come out or be buried forever. The chance she wanted lies in front of her. She pulls herself close and smothers him with her love. The floodgate breaks and his person rushes out. She didn’t want to cry, she did her best to hide the tears. Her chest gets tight, she fights through it. She didn’t want to interrupt him, not now, not like this. She swallows hard.

She struggles with the air, she wants it inside her, to give her life but the doors are closed and locked. Eyes shut tight she wants to believe in miracles, she can’t move, every part of her ignores the commands to move. “If I could just touch him…” her thoughts become foggy and tortuous. She feels a hand grasp hers. With some effort her eyes open again, a hazy version of him sits over her. The inhaler is warm to her lips. She feels the key rush through her, unlocking the doors. She takes the air, she grabs as much as she could. The bed moves, noise fills the room. The air feels good inside her, her lungs welcome it like a long lost friend. There’s a shout, he is whisked away from her. The warm plastic returns to her lips. The switches begin to flip and she can feel herself return, return to the living, to be alive.

For the life of me when I have nothing to do but to read, I hate it.  Stephens Elliot’s words twist and fuck in my head as I convey all of this with a confused face and tightly folded paper back.  Frustrated I toss the book onto the coffee table and walk to the spare room. Her bare foot presses the petal with precision as she runs the cloth back and forth under the machine. I touch her shoulder and she removes one earbud. A tiny Bjork cries from the dangling headphone. “Do you have a second?” I ask as my hand gently rubs her shoulder. “In about a minute, I am on a good stride.” She places the earbud back into her ear and the machine roars back to life. She is better at being mad at me, than I am of her. I let my will carry me back to the couch. I stare at the bent paper back and it stares right back at me. With some force I turn myself away and slip into a midday nap.

The water is chest high and the mountains are snow capped. I scan the opposite bank from me, I try to figure how long it would take me to swim, when there’s a breaking of twigs behind me. My broken face stares at me with malice intent. I push my arms forward and I am swimming, I taste the dirty lake water that finds its way into my mouth. I struggle with the water than myself, or well broken self. He pushes my head under the water; I push back and break his hold.  But not seconds later he is on my back, legs and arms tangled around me, I sink, we sink. I cry out but it’s nothing but bubbles, I watch them ascend to the surface and break free. His grip ever tighter I give one last kick and the world begins to shake, but his grip holds.

She’s sitting over me as I lay on the couch, her hands on my shoulders shaking me. I gasp and gasp, taking as much air as my lungs could hold. My head gets light and she sits me up and holds a glass of ice water in front of me. I drink it all than gasp once more. “Are you okay?” she asks as she brushes the bangs from my sweaty brow. I’ve been meaning to get haircut, just haven’t really wanted to. “Yes, now I am.” I finish with a slight sigh. “You want to talk about it?” I tuck my legs close to me so she could sit down. “Well?” she tilts her head slightly. “Just a bad dream, I was drowning.” She looks at my dirty socks than speaks. “I think that means you’re being overwhelmed, I can tell something is bothering you, and has been for a while, I can’t say I wouldn’t be a little hurt if you don’t want to talk about it, but if you give me a try I can be a pretty good listener.” I bite my bottom lip, at this moment I wanted to be someone else, someone without problems, without someone who wants me to spill them out and leave them scattered in front of us for their viewing pleasure. I bite my lip harder than before, and tell her the dream, the meeting and the worries.

His hands gently over her face as I wake, his broken face with tears, her lungs burn for air. In a hurry I go for the pistol under my pillow, I knock it off the bed and into the tight spot between the bed and wall. A lost cause, I swing for him, my right hand is caught and the pain encircles every part of me. I tumble off the bed and force myself to my feet. He yells something but I cannot understand him. I swing again with my left but he quickly ducks his head without looking. I grab at his neck when his elbow connects with my face, I hold on, tangling him with my grasp, pulling him further away from her, again and again his elbow catches me. I feel the blood run from my nose when he breaks my hold and tosses me to the ground. I muster what every I have left to pick myself up, but before I’m a even off the ground his boot comes crashing into my head. There are lights, then darkness, and I’m swimming again.

I find a note tightly tucked into my coat pocket. It outlines in nervous detail my future mistakes. I have done this before, though it never worked out right. I crumble it up and stuff it back into my coats pocket. The line for the ticket box is long, I reach for my wallet to hand her money to go inside, seconds after the door closes  behind her I’m pushed to the ground, something hard scratches my face as I move my hands to catch myself. Little specks of blood cover my palm as I try to lift myself up. A shooting pain and I lay back on the ground. Someone and I am not quite sure who, lifts me up to my feet. My eyes water and the world is blurry.  She shuffles pass the onlookers. The popcorn falls and scatters across the cement when she catches sight of my bloody hand. “What happened?” She asks as I wince from the pain. “I fell.” A random old woman appears from the crowd. “Someone pushed him right down, I was standing just over there.” She points for no reason to the location she once occupied. “Should we go to the doctor?” She asks me as I try my best not wince when her index finger and thumb meet my wrist. “After the movie.” I say with still watery eyes. She give me a look of ‘are you fuck’en kidding me?’

The chairs linked in an unforgiving way, I try to move my fingers but the pain shoots to my head telling me to stop. My name is called and they wrap my wrist tight, the entire time she doesn’t say a word. We make it back to the car. I pick at the corners of the cast to have something to do in the silence. She clears her throat while we sit at a red light than speaks. “I don’t understand why you would lie to me. If someone pushed you just say it. No need to be all manly, dammit I’ve seen you cry!” I open my mouth to reply but the note flashes in my head. I sit twisting my tongue than tell her I’m sorry. The rest of the drive is silent.

She heads to bed before me. I hear the door to the bedroom click. I stagger to my desk and pull out some pen and paper. I try to write with my right hand but it hurts too much, I opt to write the note with my left. The letters slant as if they were in a hurry to get off the page, I fold it tightly. Grab my device and head back.  My house is dark; I hear the blankets shuffle from the room but knew I wasn’t going to be caught. I find my coat and tuck the note inside. My wrist hurts again I let out a nearly audible cry. I recover and use my device to head home. The room’s light cause my eyes to strain. I stumble my way to the switch and extinguish them. The room turns cold and unwelcoming.

The sun pours into the room giving her body a glow. I watch as her chest raises and drops with every breath. She fell asleep with her make-up on, she hates that but I love the smell. With a sense of perfection for the morning I set my head back down and close my eyes. Not seconds later I hear a noise in the living room. Her warmth still lies next to mine as I slide the pistol from under my pillow. Tip-toeing I open the door. Someone is going through her purse but pauses when I step into the room and turns. I stand broken and bruised in front of me. “Shit- this isn’t supposed to happen.” The other me mumbles as I lower my pistol. The door squeaks from behind, enough time for me to turn and for him to disappear. I tuck the pistol in the chair next to me as she comes into view. “Are you talking to someone?” she asks in a groggy morning voice.  “Just myself…” I give her a smile as she walks to the bathroom to wash her face.

The benches are worn but the food is good. Our coffee cups are mismatched. Her cup tells me to take kids fishing, mine has something that’s too worn to read. She likes this place and I pretend to like it. The meeting I had this morning races through my mind. She couldn’t find her keys, so we took my car. Did he take them, and why? She always loses her keys though. Our food arrives, the type of too greasy you love it. We walk to the car after we eat. Her car can fit in smaller spots than mine so we had to park further away.

I woke-up in a cold sweat, which sounds silly just thinking about it. I get up and close the window, the dead of winter and the window is open. At least my fever was gone for now. I made my way to the bathroom, standing in front of the sink I run my fingers around the dark circle under my eyes. I felt as if whatever sickness I had set its roots right into my chest. I cough though there wasn’t a good reason for it. I fall back into bed. I put my hand on her pillow, it was cold.  She is staying at her mother’s tonight. It wasn’t anything I did. I try to fall back asleep, but the room is even colder. I slap my hand around the nightstand till I find my device. A couple hours forward, the room is bright and warm. I stand and make my way into the kitchen; the floor greets me with a creak as I step to the liquor cabinet, I pour the whisky in the glass. I take a small sip and another cough for no reason. I set the kettle to boil, just as it whistles the front door opens. I hastily drink the rest in my glass, another cough but yet this one for a good reason. When my fit was through I notice the whistling had stopped and she was standing next to me. I try clear the taste of whisky from my mouth, but it really didn’t work. She gets close enough to smell it and scowls. “I’m sick.” I said while trying hard to sound sick. Her cold palm feels my forehead. “I say so, go back to bed and I’ll bring you some tea.”

I wake-up to tea spilling over my chest. I must have fallen asleep with the cup in my hand. I stand in a racket, the cup dances on the floor before breaking. She comes into the room in a hurry. I was embarrassed. She catches my glances towards my device. “You know you can’t always run you’re your problems, even the small ones.” She said as she moves me back to bed. It felt as if my throat was closing and my forehead was melting. I lie back down, close my eyes and she walks out of the room. I reach for my device maybe somehow if I skip enough I would feel better. Not really clear on the idea but I was going to try. My fingers unsystematically glide over the items on the nightstand to find my device, but, dammit, it was gone, she took it. I didn’t mean that, she knows me too well. My head is spinning my eyes close.

More tea, just tea, it’s hard to make a Southern Toddy without whiskey or honey, but I digress. I’m starting to feel a little better. Is it Monday, crap. I had a post somewhere about talking with Henry that need publishing. Forget it.

Well, I was wrong. It doesn’t happen often but yes I was wrong, I am feeling worse. She still hasn’t given my device back. It’s odd that I never noticed how I have become so attached. It feels as if I was missing a limb.  She sits at the end of the bed I mumble something to her about my device. She smiles at me and wipes my brow with a damp cloth, Christ that felt good.

The fever broke at some point; I remember tossing and cursing. I feel bad, I said things. I always say things I never mean to. I move my hand to her pillow, it’s empty but warm. My throat was still sore and everything ached, my legs and back pop as I stand from the bed. My device sits on the dresser with a hello kitty notepad. Is it odd that I dislike the idea that she used <3 in a note? Well I was happy to get my device back. I walk into the kitchen the creak of the floor gives me away as she turns with a smile that makes the whole room into a vivid bloom. “I was going to bring this to you.”  She holds the Southern Toddy with shaking hands; I hear the hammer click back before the floor creaks. In an awkward movement I spin and put myself a few steps in front of her. Bill limps forward with the gun pointing at my brow; my eyes go cross-eyed staring at the barrel. I back up till I bump into her. Her fingers tremble as the course slowly through my pocket for my device. “I can assume for once you know why I am here.” He said stepping closer. “Not really.”  I smirked. “You damn fucking know why!” He said while pressing the barrel hard to my cheek. He grins as I feel her hand go tight around the device. Bill’s index finger squeezes and time slows, I watch the hammer swing forward then he vanishes, or well, we do.

We’re in front of her parents’ house. She places my device slowly in my hand, with a tear and a hug I’m gone. I hear the shot when I arrive in our room, I quietly as I could retrieve the 1911 from under my pillow. It wasn’t there; I find it in the space between the bed and wall.  I try to walk slowly into the kitchen but we meet in the living room. His gun to my face and mine to his. “We don’t really need to do this again.” I said. He gives another smile while his finger tightens around the trigger. I really didn’t want to do this again, or have this happen in my house. Bill lets out a cough and his weapon slips slightly from his grip, I take the chance and use the end of the 1911 to smack the colt out of his hand. He staggers back and reaches for his wrist, for his device. Before he can get to it my gun is pressed to his temple hard, it felt as if I could bore through his skull without trying.  “We don’t need to do this anymore. Just go and do not fuck’en come back!” I said. He lets off a heavy sigh spinning a set of complex knobs he vanishes seconds later.

I get dressed and drive to her parent’s house. I was in for some overdue storytelling, just wish I wasn’t still feeling like shit.

-Karl

We were late, two hours. I shouldn’t complain. But I did, I was excited for some real time with a real family. The house was packed with faces that looked like hers, and some that didn’t. I shake a lot of hands, forget a lot of names. I didn’t mean to, I am just really bad at names. We find a place to sit next to her Grandfather. He asks me if we’ve met before as we shake hands. He starts to talk about his time in France; he still wears his pilot wings on a coat like mine. He is the kind of old that you’re sure he’ll never die, a constant and a forever. He talks, talks, and talks, just wanting someone to hear his story. I cannot blame him; I am in the same boat. While he went on, gin and tonics came and left. I was in a whirl. Her sister’s husband sits next to me, his weight pulls me closer and the couch whimpers. Interrupting her Grandfather he asks me something about what I do. I try to talk but nothing comes out, a minute passes, he gets up and walks away. Her Grandfather starts talking again.

I did my best to be part of the whole family thing, but like a suit that doesn’t fit, I was struggling. The game was charades; I did a great job at being invisible, for the most part. A shake on the shoulder and it was my turn. My card reads: “Soul Train”. How in the hell do you animate a soul. I stand there awkwardly; I put my hand on my device that’s deep in my pocket. I stand there motionless, wanting to disappear. Some laughter, a blurred spin, and I am sitting down again.

We make our way outside. I apologize for embarrassing her. She chuckles and locks her fingers tight between mine. Without a hesitation, I hit my device and we leave the cold night air.

The warm July breeze blows on our faces as the light circles to us. We walk along the shaky coast when we come to a wedding reception on a beach. She’s still gripping my hand as we walk down the sanding steps. With a smart phone you can do anything, like find the place her Grandfather said he married the love of his life. And with a time machine you can take her there. We set our coats on the sand and make our way into the party. With dancing and singing the celebration is in full swing. I am not a very good dancer, but I do make exceptions.

After two go’s I make haste towards the bar. I bump into her Grandfather there, though much younger. The wings still attached to his lapel. “Karl!” I say as I reach out my hand. He shakes it as firmly as before. Before he can get a word in other wise I am swept back to the dance floor. “Another time!” I call out to him as I am pulled into the dancing chaos. More spinning and more shuffling when the lights go out, the band keeps playing as her Grandfather hollers to someone about the lights. I pull her away from the party and grab a barely opened bottle of wine. We walk along the beach as the light from the lighthouse circles again. The sand is cool as we sit down. We sit sipping away at the bottle. Her heavy head rests on my shoulder.  She falls asleep to the sound of the waves and the distance music. I pick her up and quite difficultly hit my device home.

-Karl

I flip through a couple pages and look towards him again, to my surprise was no longer there. I hastily and clumsily put the book back in the shelf and hurried outside. He was standing outside smoking when I made it out of the store; I didn’t notice him at first and bumped right into him. “Fuck…” He mumbled as his cigarette hit the ground. I did some sort of spin, I guess it wasn’t quite a spin more like a haphazard turn around. “Shit, I’m sorry Jack… Uh, have one of mine.” I said as I reached in my pocket and pulled out my cigarette case. He removed one with nimble fingers and lit it. “MMM… What are these?” He examined the cigarette, the brown paper and sweet smoke spilt from the cigarettes as he turned it in circles. “Oh they’re… Uh, Cuban, imported…” I said as he flicked the ash with his index finger and placed the cigarette in his mouth. “This would be the point it seems where I ask you things like, how in the fuck do you know my name, and other important shit.” He said, in which it felt as if a narrator went off script in my head. I paused for probably too long. I finally answer with: “I’m a journalist for the Post.” of all papers I had to choose. He gives me a look up and down “So does this Post journalist have a name?” I quickly answer “Karl!” He had the type of smile you would get when the summers warm breeze touches your face or something better than that.  “So the Post, you must be a heavy drinker for that rag, since you’ve been following me want to follow me to a bar to talk?” He asked. I felt on edge, so something to take the edge off sounded perfect.

There’s this interesting thing when it comes to some writers, when they drink they become more whimsical than they were sober. Jack was this kind of drunk writer. This is also when his powerful charm comes out. “So how does a God fearing man like yourself get stuck with the Godless men of the Post?” He asked with a grin. “I don’t think there’s any god to it.” He slaps my back, I feel my spine shift, or I thought I did. “See there’s God in everything, like the word ‘fuck’, if you look close enough, you can find God in there too…” He stops to take a drink. “A little bit between the F and U.” I said with a chuckle. “Don’t you have a questions for me, I feel like I have been asking all of them tonight.”  He said. Thankful that the bartender came up to get our next drink orders, he orders than me. He killed the rest of his drink than asked “Anything?” I looked at my empty glass. “Uh, besides, uh, fuck…” I said. “It’s pretty useless anyways; they won’t publish something for a two cent writer like me. So let ‘fuck’ be the cast we can lure in our almost Godless night!”

He was pretty damn drunk at this point and well, so was I. We stumbled to where he thought his house was. The sidewalk kept shifting under our feet as if it had a personal vendetta against us. Jack walks, or well, without grace makes his way up a stoop. He shakes the black door. “Fucking thing should be unlocked!” He shook the door some more before he saw the address. “Oh fuck, this isn’t mine.” He took two steps and lost his already loose footing and falls to his face. He bounced and skidded. “fuck…” He said in hushed tone and picked himself up. “Damn ground, always there for you you when you fall down.” He said as I chuckled. We made it to his house, he tried the door and it opened. “Coming up?” he asked, the door provided him with most of his support. “No, I think this our journeys end sir.” I said. “Well fuck you too.” He said as he slammed the door. “Goodbye.” I said. I stumble a little bit away from his house. I struggle with my device and head home.

-Karl

He passes by the busy bees as he makes his way to the sandwich shop. No one seems to care or notice the duffle bag is handcuffed to his wrist. It catches what little light there is in this gloomy morning. It shines before it disappears in his sleeves cuff as he steps. He’s of average height, weight and age, the type of person who they direct the billboards to in this business district. A corporate mind set was the one thing he did not share. The sweat was covering him in a thick layer of moist nervousness; he had the look of being out of place that is if you took enough time to look. He takes a seat at the table just out of sight of the one waitresses view, the lunch rush was over. The shop was running on a skeleton crew.  His eyes move with the seconds on his watch. A twitch as every second passes, it strikes 3:00 o’clock. His fist clinches. The gas fills the pit with 50% life, 50% poison. The bond begins, soon producing helium. The helium releases the neutrons to dance freely. They soon create a chain of events that unfolds this business district into bits.

They play the explosion again and again, each time it rips our heart strings clear out of our chests, as someone was just playing too god damn hard. Not even an hour later the culprits announce themselves, with smiles of pride their message is broadcasted to the horrified faces. They make claims of gods, of rights, of justice and any other bullshit they could come-up with. She was stuck to the TV; the scenes of radiation poisoning were coming in.  Cameras rolling, story of the year. The whole fucked up system made me want to vomit. I splash water on my face; cupping some with my hand it fills my mouth. I return to the living room, they have a picture of the man behind the trigger. The picture seemed like it was from a birthday party, he had look that said “I didn’t mean to.” She looks up to me and I nod. With a time and a face I set off.

He passes by the busy bees as he makes his way to the sandwich shop. I notice the duffle bag is handcuffed to his wrist. It catches what little light there is as a beacon to follow. He was nervous- his pace was faster than mine. I make double time to catch up with him. He sits down, placing the bag gently next to him. I am a few steps behind him when I spot the wire to the manual trigger in his hand, about 10 seconds to 3 he begins to take deep interest into his watch. With a forceful right hand it connects to his temple sending the shut down message to the rest of his brain. The clock strikes 3 and there is no boom. The vans tires screech behind me, I spin enough to see the man in the hood clock me in the same manner as before.

I lie down in the van, hands and feet bound tight, next to me is the duffle bag. I rock my head to get a better look at my surroundings. Lights flash as something, probably a boot, stops me.

I come to the sound of gravel crunching under the vans tires. I hear the men arguing outside about what to do with me and why they didn’t set off the nuke. A lot of back and forth, it’s decided by the man with the thickest Texan accent I have ever heard that I may be useful. They drag me out of the van but leave the duffle bag there. This is when I spot the bloody handcuff still attached to the bag. I don’t put up much of a fight as they drag me into the house. They set me on a worn recliner. I feel comfortable for a second, that is till the thick Texan accent comes walking in the room. I make eye contact for too long so he hits me across the face with the belt in his hand. I bite my tongue and taste blood. “Who sent ya?” he asks before striking me again. I have been in this situation before, but I no one was going to save me this time. He strikes me again, I let out a fuck, but I guess the F was the only bit they heard. “Did he say F… Bee… Eyes…?” one of the armed goons asked. I was surprisingly annoyed by the way he said it. “Least you can do is say right, you honky prick!” A stupid move on my part. The buckle part of the belt catches my cheek leaving a neat gash. I’m quiet again. I feel the warmth around the pain as the thick Texan accent badgers me with questions about being an agent of the F.B.I… “Are you with the F.B.I.? How much do they know?” he asks. “You know nothing of interrogating with torture do you, I could tell you anything just to make you sto…” He cuts me off with a punch to the gut. I gasp for air and regain my composure. “Like I was saying, torture doesn’t work. You’re not going to get the answers you need from me, maybe if you showed a little hospitality.”  He was about to strike me again with the belt but stopped. “Can I get some water, or maybe something stronger?” I ask. He punches me once more; well it was worth a try.

I gave them all the answers they wanted to hear, that the F.B.I. knew everything about them, this location, everything. This sent them into a hurried rush; they were going to move camp. I hear the Cessna prop go as the honky prick from before guides me outside with an AR to my back. It was a pitch black as he leads me to a ditch and has me stand at the bank. My knees were shaking as he walked back several paces from me.  My mind races, I look behind me and see what look to be two bodies. Instead of back, I run forward and knock the prick down before he could get his AR to shoot. With a bloody head I use it to smack his. Two more forceful thuds and he’s out. In an awkward movement I fish the keys from his pocket. A couple more strange twists and one cuff is undone. The Cessna engine begins to pick-up in the distance, I fetch the AR from the the unconscious prick and run towards the sound of the engine. It was taxiing its way up a small dirt runway, I use the light attached to the AR to shine on the plane, and I make speed with it. The gull winged door opens and lifts above the Texan’s head. “What the fuck is it?” He calls out. I pull the trigger and the AR lets of a full auto burst into the Texan and the plane making holes in the door above him. He hangs from the door attached by his seat belt. The Cessna picks up speed; I drop the rifle and pick up my speed as well. I feel the dirt slide under my feet as I grab the edge of the cabin. The bends in my fingers ache as I pull myself up just as my foot leaves the ground the plane does too. It jolts skywards pushing me back down; the lights from farm house grow distant as we climb. The plane levels off as I begin to struggle my way back up, with one hand the pilot tries to close the open door, the dead Texan stops it from closing on my fingers with his bloody head.  The door lifts back up, I manage to get one foot onto the landing gear and use it to push myself inside. The pilot a meek man takes a swing at me but misses. I grab the back of his hair and slam his face into the LCD screen.  The screen holds but his nose does not, he cries in pain. One more slam and he’s silent. As he was easier to move, I unbuckle the pilot and put him in the backseat, this is when I see the plane’s cargo is the same duffle bag, the same nuke as before. Almost like a video game I take the stick to my left, I tilt it slightly and the plane moves with the nudge. With one hand I pull the mess that was the Texan up in the seat and close the door, my ears pop a little from the pressure change. The bullet holes let off a light whistle. I wipe the LCD display to remove the pilot’s blood and the screen changes. A map with the plane in the center in its path was downtown Houston to the left the Gulf of Mexico. With careful taps to the stick the plane begins to point to the gulf. I search the dead Texan for my device and find it in his breast pocket a long with my smokes. I light one and watch as the lights below vanish. The map on the screen states we’re several miles off the coast. I use the dead Texan’s hand to tilt the stick forward. The plane makes a whine as it begin to plummet to the sea below. I hit my device.

-Karl

A time traveler goes to the place where his first memories were laid, the orphanage is dark and soulless. The moon casts the right type of shadow, to give the building features, features he hates, where he will also grow to hate. He kicks a piece of gravel; it bounces and skips to then disappear with the pieces just like it. He makes his leave.

A time traveler goes to the place where his one home was closed. He watches his younger self stand in the rain as they stack the items from the orphanage outside. In neat piles, he recalls his want to knock it all down. He laughs. The thought crosses his mind to just stop and adopt his younger self. To give him the childhood he deserved. The complexities of the paradoxes weigh heavy on him, enough so they push the thought out. “Soon enough.” He whispers to his younger self. He vanishes.

A time traveler goes to the place where he first fell in love, the memory isn’t there. He searches the park, he searches the swing sets. He looks for them at the tree where he first kissed her. It is this spot he stops and recalls the events. He was so nervous, palms moist, the coal dust on his pants. She didn’t mind, her father was his boss. He recalls bumping foreheads; he rubs his forehead at the thought. The memory fades as the sun sets. The time traveler has crisis within himself, he pulls out his device giving the tree one last look.

A time traveler sit with a warm drink in his hand as he stares at his notes. He tries to figure out the timeline- of how he recklessly destroyed some of his fondest memories but left the soul wrecking one intact. With one heave the desk is on its side and the warm drink on the floor. The time traveler tries to collect the papers on the ground but gives up three to four pages in. He leaves the mess for the morning, if this time traveler had one knack: it would be cleaning up messes.

A time traveler looks at his past; he is beside himself on what to do next. He pans his memories for moments in time where he could witness something he truly did love. He picks and pushes the papers along as he searches. He finds a small note written in feminine hand writing. He reads over it once, twice, and then decides.

A time traveler goes to the last place where he could find an honest memory. He watches himself make eyes at her. He knows and the other him knows they can’t do anything. A thousand times he recalls. A thousand tries to make it work, but the only one that did wasn’t the one he wanted. The time traveler watches his younger self leave the café. He enters. He recalls this was the last time he could bring himself to come in here. The door bell rings as he walks in. “Forget something?” the women behind the counter asks. The time traveler waits till he is at the counter to respond. “Almost.” He said. He orders a coffee and sits down again, he tries his best to remember how he was able to amaze a women like her. He pauses before taking a drink from his coffee, thoughts flash in his head. The time traveler stands and approaches the women he loves. He sits down across from her as she folds the corner of the page she was on. The time traveler is charming, for once.

A time traveler lies a in a bed, sheets that have never covered him before he remembers them. He stares at the books on the nightstand then to the clock, it flashes, in need to be set. The time traveler doesn’t want to get up from here, he doesn’t want to move. Just maybe it can work this time, he thinks to himself. She’s on the phone with her mother. She mentions him, but in passing. She jots down the hospital room number on a pink note pad then hangs up the phone. The time traveler watches each movement, trying his best to etch them into his skull. “What’s up?” He asks. She tells him about her Grandmothers trip to the hospital, how they think she’ll pull through. He knows the outcome, but doesn’t say it.

A time traveler makes himself comfortable in her home, as his younger self cannot know of him. The tragic time passes, but there is no tragedy. A thousand and one times he thinks to himself as he meets her outside of her house. He follows her upstairs glances ever so often at her in way to make sure that she’s still there. They sit on the couch watching a horrible romantic comedy that he is somewhat glad he forgot the name of. She pauses the movie and turns to the time traveler. “Have you ever got the feeling that you’ve known someone for eternity? That’s how I feel about you, like in some other place on this planet we grew old together.” He doesn’t speak after she finishes but water begins to form in his eyes, she doesn’t see this and turns back to the TV. “Forget it…”  She said as she moves her hand over the remote to continue the movie. Before she can press play, stupidity or courage, whichever one, roars inside the time traveler. “What if we have?” he asks. Her soft hand stops above the remote. “What do you mean?” She asks. The time traveler swallows then explains to her every minute detail, maybe bits that should have been left out but weren’t. Both with spinning heads they then call it a night. They lay awake, her thoughts of time, his of her.

A time traveler sits at desk while he draws out the timeline. She watches him work and mumble to himself. He plots every day from here till the moment he left. Several pots of coffee and everything is worked out. She calls her job and quits. The family was the hardest part. She reads from the prepared script, how she’ll be in Africa for several years. How it will be impossible to talk to them and how she will miss them. She finishes with her goodbyes and hangs up the phone. They rent a truck and pack all her stuff up. A storage space rented for an extended amount of time. He watches her mouth goodbye to her possessions wrapped in plastic as he closes the door. They return the truck and she cancels the remainder of necessaries. She grips his hand tight and eyes closed shut, they vanish.

A time traveler and her pick up the thrown papers on the ground. With two heaves the desk is where it should be.