The two cars collide into the packed mound, my car, my car, its nose crumbles over the mere force, nowhere to go the rear end raises, to soon connect itself with the mound. His car, his car, it becomes familiar with the crunching,  the glass breaking,  the death sounds. My car goes up as his goes under, it tried, oh god it tried to follow suit, but there wasn’t, oh there wasn’t any room left to follow. It crashes into the mid section of my car as it barreled itself upward. More steel bends, no, more steel breaks, an awful sound plays, over and over, it doesn’t even now want to escape my ears, the crunch, the death. Fire comes as fire does, I’m not sure who it was, but trucks and cars arrive with lights on top, they make the fire go away. I make my leave, as I walk I use my cell phone, to report my car stolen, “it was gone when I stepped outside” I said. I wonder if she believed me, if she could hear the lie in my voice. I walk home, it’s a long walk, but I make good time.

-Karl

I can smell the surf come in then out, it washes itself on myself with its salt. Or maybe for the lack of a better word, it doesn’t. I take a deep breath. I could say what year it is but I would hate to give up the ghost too quickly, but it’s not enough to me, but would probably be reasonable to anyone else. He sits there, drinking away, the sand finds its way into the places it doesn’t belong.  The ocean in a constant motion, an almost forgiving rhythm. As if in to say sorry and hello at the same time. In inches then feet the water closes in to give him an everlasting  hug.  The sand and the salt, it washes in and over his feet. When with some half hearted effort he stands. I duck behind a bank to hide myself from myself. But with all possibility he knows I am here, that I am watching.

The moon breaks its hold from the clouds and begins to shine, giving a luminance that the night required, that he deserved. He drifts back and forth as he makes his way up the shore. Like a wounded animal he is alone in search of a quiet spot to unwind, to die. The cliff face begins to rise and the shore begins to sink.  Sand becomes stone, but the salt, the wet, on everything, remains. His pace is staggered and almost bewildering. With a hushing sound the breeze is gone, leaving a harmony of near silence. The smooth stones roll under is bare feet as he continues his march out. At one final moment he stops, so I stop. Unsure on why he chose here to sit to die, I watch. He tips the glass bottle one last time. Bringing the bottle to eye level he pauses and stares for maybe a brief moment of clairvoyant realization of too many past drinks, or maybe not enough. He tries to throw the bottle into the sea, but it breaks on the rocks a few feet in front of him. The breeze returns and it carries the thick smell of salt. He lies down on the layered rocks and closes his eyes, I sit and wait.

About 15 minutes passes when I notices that his chest was no longer raising and lowering. I slowly and carefully walk to his location. The round stones roll under my feet like they did his. Some more time passes before I can work up the nerve to move myself next him. I try making some racket with a rock, but his frame does not stir.  Close enough now, to see the slight grin of his face, my face, but older. I nudge him and there is no life, it is done, it is gone.

I wait around for a little while, not really sure what to do. “Do I report this and to whom, I can’t just leave him here, how would I explain this.” All those thoughts go through my head while my device dances around in my hand. Taking one last deep breath of the salty air, I head home.

-Karl

I in turn question my own probability of existences. How probable is it for me to be, or anything else in this chance of a planet to be. Even the mere thought of questioning such things gives weight to the argument and the improbability of it all. Trees move with the stiff breeze that finds its way through the tall structures. I doubt a tree would ever question its existence, it is for the most part merely here, as I am, for the most part. I begin to feel as if my own thoughts would soon become vapor, tsk’ing at its own birth as it forms in front of me. Without thinking I have the flask to my lips, the vodka burns what little is left to burn. With another look at my surroundings I take my device and head home.

I fall onto my bed, the pillow smothers my face but it feels good. I lie on my belly for some time, maybe it was an hour. At this point time could and will be consider irrelevant. I roll to my side, then off the bed, making little effort to catch myself I fall to the floor. Slowing picking myself up I walk to my closest, for something, but I am not sure what. My hand stops on the doorknob, I feel unsure of my reasoning for being there. Turning around I head back towards my bed. Grabbing my device, I try it figure out where to go. Satisfied, I hit my device, and my bedroom disappears.

The black soot covers most of everything, the streets are dirty, a splashing of bright colors here and there. This is the kind of Paris one could fall in love with, that is if they were the falling in love type. I walk my way down the blackened sidewalk counting each step as I took them. Locke once said “As people are walking all the time, in the same spot, a path appears.” I find myself, or well I subconsciously without any decision really being made, walking towards the sound of music. It drifts in an out even as I close in on the source. I feel as if whatever chip was on my shoulder slide off, even a smile comes to my face. A crowd forms and a circle is made as the band plays. Summer dresses, giggles, and happiness fills the air alongside the music. I’m sure I’ve mentioned the fact that I’m a terrible dancer. Sometime it doesn’t matter how awful you are at something, it still feels good to try. My identity melts with the rest of the faces as we dance around to the almost jazz. I am someone, just anyone.

The band packs up as the crowd disperses. I sit at a little table, I want some wine but I didn’t bring money that would work here. So I sit feeling thirsty but happy. Street lamps begin to make up for the void left by the disappearing sun. I guess this is happiness, I guess this is me happy.

-Karl

One bottle down and moving onto the second as I pour more of the gold liquid into his glass. “So what can you tell me about this ‘Order’ you work for?” Placing the bottle gently on the coffee table, he runs his thumb along the rim of the glass then speaks. “Well I can’t like say much about them ’cause I really don’t know too much, I think they like being a secret or something, even to the peoples that are a part of it.” He takes a stiff drink from his glass and continues. “Well I know they have like the killers, that’s what I do, then there’s the delivery boys, they just give us killers the notes on who to, well, kill. There has to be somebody or something that tells us who to kill but I’ve never met them. I asked a delivery boy about it once, but he just stood there shoving the envelope at me without saying anything. So I guess they don’t know or something.” He spins the silver dagger in his hand as he talks. My heart starts pounding in my ear, distracting me to the point where it’s the only thing I hear. His lips move, I watch his tongue bounce up and down in his mouth as he talks. I feel the end of the pistol stick and pull against my skin. I was nervous just in his company, this guy was possibly crazy. The blade rolls and spins around his fingers, as if not under his control. It falls to the floor bringing me back. “Ah, fucks, I like get slow when I drink.” He picks up the blade and sets it to his side. “So, like tell me something about you.”He tries to make it sound like a request but it comes out like a demand. “Well, there really isn’t very much for me to tell…” I brush the hair on back of my head with my fingers as I finish. “Oh don’t give me that shit, there has to be something that you haven’t told anyone or written down.” His smile fades to a look of true interest. “Well, when it’s cold and dark I peel myself from the unforgiving mess that’s my bed and go back, to watch the lights, to maybe catch a glimpse of my family. Maybe I’m searching for a clarity that was there at some point, I’m not really sure. I stand on their lawn, sometimes I pull a stray dandelion and pocket it. I save them, tucking them all away in a box in the back of my closest.” I try to clear the lump in my throat with a cough. “Ha, really, that’s like for girls or something.” He tips the rest of the glass back and the scotch disappears inside him. “This was nice I guess, I might stop by sometime or something. Whatever.” as quickly as he came, he’s gone.

I take the glasses and put them in the sink. The water feels nice as it flows over my hands, warm. The string that controls the light dangles motionless as I pull on it like a child, it snaps up and dances around as the closest is filled with light. A plain box, nothing to remarkable. The lid slips off as I reach into my pocket. I feel the soft yellow peddles, without looking I take the tiny flower and place it in the box filled with more like it. Tucking the lid back on tight, I place the box in a far back corner, with a moment taken I pull the string and the light extinguishes.

-Karl

My stomach twists and turns, the scotch and lack of anything to eat was ripping my insides.  ”So do you want a pizza?” I ask, somewhat bewildered by the words coming out of my mouth. “Yeah, that would be nice…” he says trying to get his tears hidden. “Alright, pepperoni okay?” I ask “Yeah, that’s good.” I make my way to my room. I find my phone tucked underneath my pillow next to the pistol. I pause staring at both for several seconds then just grab my phone. While walking back to the living room my eye catches my device sitting on the dresser.

There’s a knock at the door, then are bellies are full. We sit smoking our after dinner cigarettes when he asks “How do manage to keep it all together?  Like isn’t this whole time thing confusing to you, and how do you feel like telling people about them?” smoke putters from his mouth as he finishes. “Well to be honest; I start with a general idea on how things will play out. I go through the number of likely conversation I may have and figure out the proper responses. But to say that it generally works out the way I wanted it to would be a lie, I have gotten myself into a number of messes and some of them I care not to share with anyone. I believe Tom Waits once sang ‘I’ll tell you about my secrets but I’ll lie about my past…’ Sometimes I feel as if my secrets are my past and I should probably lie about them as well, or well just state matter-of-factly state that they never happened.”  I drown the rest of my thoughts in my drink. “I once was told by someone to go back and kill some English child molester, they gave me the date time and everything. But I don’t know it just didn’t seem right or something, like the house was vacant and everything was dusty… I take my dagger and think about home and suddenly I get another note about the same guy, same place, same everything, it didn’t make sense to me, like there wasn’t anyone there. Well, I go back again and this time I waited around, just waited around, for maybe two or four hours, just sitting there waiting when there’s a like muffled scream from above me. God damn place had a second floor. So I rushed up there to find the guy in the picture standing over a young dead girl, I think I lost it, no, yeah, I lost it. I stabbed and stabbed and stabbed and stabbed. I Just kept putting my dagger in him till there wasn’t anything left to stab. I guess, yeah, I left. I got home cleaned myself up and there wasn’t any note or anything. I tried to figure out like how I would save that girl or something, but it was just too damn confusing. And well I don’t have a, what is it called, oh, an outlet like you to talk about these things. So yeah.” His eyes drift to the floor then up the wall witch they stop at a small framed print on the wall. “That’s pretty, did you do it?” He stands to walk up to the encased piece of paper. “Oh no, that’s done by Corot, it’s one of my favorite pieces, Memory of Mortefontaine. I’ve always meant to get my hands on a real one, but at last what sits there is just a print.” I stand next him now, I watch his reflection in the glass as he stares at the girls next to the tree. “What is she reaching for?” He asks in an childish wonderment. “I believe flowers, but I really can’t be sure.” Now I too stare at the print trying my best to figure out the actions of the girls. “I never liked art anyhow.” he says as he turns away from the wall. “Too much confusing things.” I hear him sit on the couch again and pour two more glasses of liquor.

Sometime passes and the night comes. We move ourselves outside as the house began to reek of cigarettes and spilt booze. “So tell my Eugene, why did you really come, why are you here?” I set my glass to the side of me. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, or you wouldn’t want to.” He looks away as he speaks as to try his best not to make eye contact. “Well give me a try.” I slip my device in between my fingers, a “just in case” I thought.  “The Order isn’t happy about you, they say you mess too many things up. I’m supposed to take your time machine away.” His eyes connect with mine as he finishes. I tighten my hand around my device as he does his own. “I don’t want any trouble, I like you, but I have to, you know.” He’s standing now, closing the gap. “You don’t have to, we can work this out, just sit down and we’ll talk about this. It’s just…” in an attempt to back myself away my chair tips over and I fall with it. “We’re done talki..” the silver blade moves forward. I close my eyes.

To be continued.

“Smoke?” he asks while holding out a tightly rolled cigarette in front of me. In another fluid motion he brings the coffee to his lips then returns it to the table in front of him. Using the lighter on the coffee table I light the cigarette, the smooth smoke fills my lungs giving a good kind of calm, a wholesome  calm. “Well if you’re not going to ask it, my name is Steve, not really but you can call me that. No, I shouldn’t start off with a lie, my name is Eugene.” The truth made him invert a little. “So Eugene, what do I owe the pleasure of this morning visit?” I ask. “Morning, it’s about 1 o’clock in the afternoon.” I steal a look at the clock above his head. “I guess the reason I am here is to tell you about me, some people think it’s good to talk about your feelings.” He sits up straight again, picking up his coat then placing it back down on his lap. “Why did you come here then, why not, I don’t know, anywhere else?” I ask in a semi aggressive tone. “You seem a lot less rude in your stories than in real life.” He again picks-up his coat and places it back down on his lap. “I’m sorry, I had a long night.” I say as I shift my eyes to the four empty bottles of wine. “I see. I thought of all the people in this world, you would be the one I could talk to about this.” He places his hand on his coat but stops and moves it to his pocket, fishing for something deep inside. “What if I told you I travel through time and I kill people?” Something silver moves from his pocket then under his coat. I put my cigarette out in the ashtray “Well if this is true, maybe you should turn yourself in, cause what your doing is wrong.” My feet shift to run, to get to the pistol under my pillow. He looks at the change of my stance and smiles.”I wouldn’t try anything, I would hate to do it, but I could stab so many holes in you that they wouldn’t be able to sell this house after you’re dead, nope, there will be such a mess that they’ll just have to burn this whole thing down. So relax while I tell you my story.” The silver knife, almost like a deadly letter-opener reveals itself from under his coat. I slowly let my back return to the chair. He opens a small case filled with more tightly rolled cigarettes, extending his arm to me, case in hand, he asks “Smoke?”

I watch him as he smokes away his cigarette, rocking his head back and forth, as if going through everything he’s about to say in his head. I check the clock again, 10 minutes had passed since the last time he spoke. About to say something just to break the silence when he starts. “You know what it is like to end someone, I know you do, do you feel awful too, do you feel thankful that at least it’s over, how do you feel about it?” His gray eyes turn to pins as they pierce me for an answer. “I had to, I didn’t seek out to destroy this person, to end them. I see it as if I didn’t end them they would have probably killed me.” I try hard to pick the right words. “Did you enjoy it?” He has almost a glee to his voice.  “Enjoy? I have nightmares about it, how his body twisted and turned how it fell to the ground, how bright everything was. Enjoy, no, no, I am haunted by it.” My hands shake, I grasp my knees to stop it. “I thought you were going to do the talking?” My voice shakes as well. “I’m getting to that, it gets easier you know, at first it’s hard, it haunts you, that’s the hard part I am sure, but once you notice that we’re just simple machines, it becomes easier to turn it off.” His tone is calm and collected. “So that’s what you do, you simply switch off your empathy and kill people. Is it for fun, is it?” I try to tighten my throat, to end the shake in my voice. “Not at first, you know what they say ‘find joy in your work’ or something like that. That’s what you have to do, when you take a life away it’s not easy, or it wasn’t. Do you know how fast a heart beats when someone knows they’re about to die? I tried to count it once,  but I have this problem with numbers, tried to count in tens or something like that. Ah crap, I am getting ahead of myself aren’t you, I, I is what I mean, probably want to know about how I got started don’t you?” His voice begins to shake but almost as if to mimic me. “I was a child once, but everyone was a child once. I had a great family life, my dad was a leader, do you know what it’s like to be in the shadow of something powerful, something bigger than you? Of course you don’t you’re a fuck’en orphan. I’m an orphan too, they died when I was 13, it was a whirlwind when I found out I was the one that killed them.  I tried to chase the ghost of the killer of my parents, to get some sort of revenge but then in the end it’s me who I’ve been chasing this entire time. You’re not the only one to skip, hop, and jump through time, though I can say you’re far more reckless than anyone I have ever met. There’s this group, or, well an order, I don’t really understand it that well, it’s been going on forever. But what we do is find and kill bad people, the troubling part is there’s always and forever going to be bad people, people that need to die. I kill one, oh what is he in this timeline, oh yes, I kill one Hitler, and poof there’s some other one that just pops up again. Like the world needs a natural evil just to exist or something. I’m not a bad person, or I try not to be. I guess that’s the confusing part for me, I don’t want to be the evil, but all I do is chase evil. I try to stop it. Can I have a drink, I won’t cut you I promise…” He places the knife on the empty seat next to him, within grasp but not in his hand. I get up and pour two glasses of scotch and then take the bottle and drinks back to where we were seated.

He slams down the first glass and pours himself another without exhaling and drinks that as well. “Thanks, I needed that. I’m not very good at talking and I am sorry. I get excited sometimes, like my insides are explosive and it’s hard to get everything straight. So I killed my parents, that wasn’t easy, but when I was shown what they could have done, how they killed babies, I mean, babies.  I spent my life with a black and white moral understanding of things. There was good and bad, there weren’t some bad’s that were good and good’s that were bad. I’m losing you again. Well, I didn’t want to kill them, to put me or younger me through everything I went through.  But when you’re confronted with an obvious evil, regardless of who it has in its possession. Something so blatant, how can you not do something? I struggled with myself for a year or something, one moment I tied a rope around a ceiling fan and my neck, I kicked the chair from my feet and just fell onto the ground, there standing above me was a ghost, or me, I’m not really sure, he said something about not being  able to tie knots very well and placed the silver dagger on my chest. I pulled something in my neck, they said I could have been paralyzed. When I think about somewhere, like a place or time the dagger takes me there. I was lying in bed, spinning the dagger about trying to figure out why, like how or something. Then I guess I thought about the night my parents were killed and within a nothing I was in my childhood bedroom, centimeters away from the 13 year old self.” He stops and pours himself another drink, I extend my own glass and he pours me one as well.

To be continued…

I have tried my best to avoid all the places we went together, all the things we did together. I couldn’t handle seeing her, not yet. oh god, not yet. While sifting the empties around trying to find a drop of that spirit that I need, all dry. I dress and head to the store, I was thinking, I guess it was some sort of auto pilot, drifting aimlessly or purposely into the direction of her. I grab the small basket next to the door and head straight for the liquor section. The floor feels slick under my shoes as my pace quickens. I pretend to browse for a few seconds then grab what I came for. The store seems busier than usual “Is there a holiday this weekend?” I ask myself while scanning the large lines and disgruntled faces. I move myself into a line, to join ranks with the other annoyed customers. Shifting back and forth in my shoes, something catches in the corner of my eye, like a bright light or a shine off a watch. I turn to see what it was and there she stands. All breathing stops, the world becomes motionless, my eyes trace over her frame, then my heart drops.  Grasped in her hand was another. I drop the small basket which makes a loud clank. The noise of the store returns as everyone looks at me, including hers. I panic, darting left, then right, then left again. Trying to make an escape. She calls after me as I slip my way between baskets and a magazine rack. I was running now, just running. As if on a downward slope, my legs catch speed. Winded I come to a stop, 8 or 9 blocks away from the store. Breathing in and out fast my head tingles and my legs ache. Not really sure on what to do, I pull out my device.

I stand in the over lit parking lot. My car sits like a deserted island in this vast striped sea. Under my windshield wiper sits a quickly scrawled note. I ball it up recognizing the pink paper kitty watermark. I try to throw it on the ground but can’t, my hand is extended in front of me as I pull it back and shove the note into my pocket. I sit in my car for several minutes giving the steering wheel a beating it didn’t deserve. I drive to a small gas station that was also part liquor store. I purchase what I originally set out for, my hand checking hard as I give the cash needed for the purchase. The attendant gives me a blank look, like she’s seen this all before and she really doesn’t care anymore.

I lay on my couch with the empty glass on my chest, I cannot drive not like this. I pull out my device, but it falls onto the floor. I try to reach for it but I fall on the floor as well. The wood is cool and welcoming as I lay there wanting and not wanting to move. I roll to my side some minutes later and the crumbled up note falls out. A stare at it for a few seconds, wondering if I should open it or not. When finally my wants out weigh my needs as I lay there on the floor with the note stretched out above my face. “You don’t look well, call me.” The note reads. Angry at the contents of the note or myself I try hard to throw the it to the other side of the room. “Fuck this.” I slur. With some effort my device is again in my hand. I squint hard at it before it clicks.

The concrete is colder than the wood floor. I pick myself up and walk up the stoop. The lofts lights pour onto the street. I knock only once and she’s at the door “You’re not looking very well.” with an almost hiccup between each word. “I can say the same for you.” trying hard to hold my own slurs. We hug. I notice then how small her body is as my arms wrap around her.

The living room has the feel of a woman. The old mixing in with the new but everything going perfectly as in an agreement on how to tie the whole room together. I stare at the hole in my sock that my big toe made as she walks back from the kitchen with two glasses of whiskey almost filled to the brim. I take mine and gulp a little too much, my throat burns and my stomach yells but I just cough it off. “Good is it not?” She asks as she slides herself next to me on the couch. Her tiny fingers run through my hair as I try to compromise with my belly to hold everything in. “So why do you look such like shit?” She asks as her cold palm finds my neck. “Things, have not been the very best for me…” I take another drink, again my stomach turns. “I know what you mean, things haven’t been well either here.” She removes her hand from my neck and wraps both around her glass as she pours the rest of the whiskey inside her. “You go first then.” I say still amazed by her drinking ability. “You know what is really tough? Having to lie about your past. It is as if I do not have one. I cannot make love work for me.” She finishes by bringing her knees to her chin, as if trying to make her legs a wall to protect herself. Brushing her hair out of her face I speak “I know, and I’m sorry I didn’t know what else to do then, and quite honestly I generally have no idea what to do.” My stomach complains some more when I get the feeling to shift myself into a ball as well, making myself small so the world or life cannot hurt me. Instead I clutch my device hard causing my hand to hurt. “How about we go somewhere, you know somewhere else?” I ask Tori. She pulls her head up and with an almost smile and tears in her eyes she asks “Anywhere?” “Anywhere” I respond.

The streets of Tokyo are busy, the summer dress she wears give a radiance that I needed to see. “Where do you want to go?” I ask as she pulls me along the side walk. “Oh, I will show you, do not worry we are almost there.” her hand grasping tighter as she yells back at me. We stop at a cross walk to wait for the light to change, cars pass by that in my time people would call classics. The light changes and again I am whisked along. Quite rapidly the urban world we were surrounded by changes to one of wilderness. We stop along a green field and a pond, cherry blossom trees  stand perfectly spaced as far as I could see. The pink flushes itself around the surroundings giving everything a glow of happiness and near perfection. “I cannot believe we made it to hanami, this is so wonderful. I love this, I love this…” She fades into a whisper. We make our way to a bench and I light a cigarette for her and I. “This is breath taking… Just amazing, I’ve never been one for flowers but all of this…” I wave my hand towards the trees. “all of this is just, perfect…” We sit smoking away that cigarette when I feel the drunkenness being replaced with a headache. “So are you ready to go back?” She gives me a look of that yells no. I nod and return to my seat next to her. The sun goes down and the headache kicks into full gear. “So, do you want to stay? I mean this is your time, it’s understandable, the only thing I have to ask is, will you life here be any better than the one you have in my time?” I felt selfish, but I just didn’t want to lose her too. She stands giving small smile and begins to walk to a small group of bunched up bushes. “I can get it you know, you don’t have to come back, you don’t have to, I will not force you…” We get to the bushes and she turns toward me. “I’ll just miss yo…” She places her hand once more into mine. I smile at her and she smiles back. I pull out my device and give her a nod and she gives one back.

I guess it wasn’t the exact moment, it wouldn’t work, but it was close. I press down on my device, I hear the click at the same time her hand slips away from mine. I stand alone in her loft. Emptied handed and even more heart broken. I ready my device to go back, to ask her why. When I guess my own words come back at me and I stop. I pocket my device, head to her room, and fall asleep on top of the covers. Heartbroken, but happy.

-Karl

It’s regrettably hard to imagine that all of this, the things we love and hate will be gone at some point. But not really, my reluctant belief is that nothing cannot exist as it’s mere existence would then qualify it into the something. Maybe I am not saying this right… Every living organism dies, there is a cycle or path that leads to the enviable end of said organisms function, this is something we all know. Some are terrified of it. But when your consciousness is gone, so will the things that can be said is you. There is a body that remains, the atoms that make up this shelter for your being stay in this universe to go on, to melt into the ether of everything. This can be the same for stars, planets, galaxies- in one moment in the very distant future to be condensed and expanded. Making everything, into everything. It’s almost romantic I guess, that everything that ever was ,that will ever be, will be again.

The copper edge of the blooming star begins to break, vaporous trails dance as the sun makes its way across the horizon. The thin sheet that once kept life on this planet burns from the rays. Sweat pours from any where it can, burning my eyes. I can’t close them, not now. My eyes feel the heat like watching a camp fire, a warmth, a calm. The sky itself begins to ignite as the remains of this world turn. Covering half of the sky it becomes too much for me to continue. Drenched in sweat I fumble with my device, I give her one last look before I too disappear momentary. To again go on.

-Karl

We moved to a small table, the sun bounces off the river giving the small pub a glow. I watch the ripples dance on the ceiling. John sets his empty glass onto the table witch pulls my focus, with a wave of his finger he orders another. “Don’t you think you should slow down a little?” I ask speaking out of turn. “Maybe.” he replies. The barman sets the glass onto the table, the amber beer gives off a nice color. He slides his hands over the glass and looks straight towards me, maybe past me. “What do you think of morals?” His hands now cover the most of the glass. “Morals? Well, I guess I vary on the idea, I want to say I have a moral backbone like Kant, where it can be such a duty or an obligation to do what is the obvious right, but I think, maybe, I am the opposite. I’m not saying I don’t have a backbone, no, more like I disagree with it constantly.” He scowls at my answer then produces another question. “What does it mean to do what you should have done?” He takes another drink, the glass raises slowly to his lips as I go over his question with the tip of my tongue. The glass makes a hallow sound when it returns to the table, empty.

The conversation shifts and he begins to talk about Tolstoy and other authors.  Soon another round is brought to the table, was this his fifth or fourth, I couldn’t recall. His question begins to course it’s way into my thoughts when he asks me if I was listening. “Oh- yes, yes!” I said in a near feverish tone. He clears his throat and continues. ” Pluralism, and far away from any sort of Christian anarchism, that is to say where I can willing disagree with someone like Tolstoy.” His eyes dart to the wall where the outline of a clock was.” Do you have the time?” I look at my watch. “Two twenty.” He finish the rest of his beer and stands. “I guess it’s been nice.” he says pulling some cash from his wallet. As he walks outside, I try to make myself stand but my knees feel weak.  The engine kicks to life and begins to putter once more as he slowly backs up. I watch as him and the bike pull up the slanted drive and out of view.

I sit at the table as a car pulls quickly into the drive, a young man runs in and heads straight to the payphone. He talks about an accident up the road involving a bike. I sit and listen, trying hard to make myself invisible. The conversation ends and the man sits down for a drink. “What does it mean to do what you should have done?” His question again rolls in my head. I pull some cash from my pocket letting it fall onto the table as I run outside. Out of sight I grab my device and let it click.

Standing in between some trees I can hear the engine of his bike roar its way down the highway. I move myself closer to the road when he passes. I was sure this was right, but needless, my device clicks again. I stand in a field and watch him go by, I’m not sure but I think I see a smile on his face. I click the device once more and I’m standing on the road. I wait to hear the putter, to see him, but he does not show. I check my watch, the minute hand is a sliver past the six. The young man’s car passes by me in a hurry on his way to the pub. “So may we all.” I think to myself as I click my device and head home.

-Karl

She storms out of the house once more, the door slams and doesn’t close. I pull it open and I follow her but the car was already out of the drive way. I want to chase the car down but my legs disagree. I trip on my way inside. “Fucking bastards!” I yell. Picking myself up is a challenge, I almost don’t want to get up.  With some effort I am standing. I stagger my way to the room. I grab my keys, phone and, device. The cars stereo plays some pop song that I nearly smashed it for. I park behind her car and bolt to the door. Knocking with haste it finally opens. Her father on the other side, he moves quickly and begins leads me to the fence. His peasant fingers press hard against my back as he pushes me in the direction he wanted to go. His escort complete he turns to me and speaks “She’s doesn’t really want to talk to you right now.” I dart my eyes to the ground and murmur  ”Can you just tell her I didn’t mean to.” He clears his throat “That seems like something you’ll need to say to her yourself.” He begins to walk inside. “I’ll wait here then!” I call out with a crackled voice.

Sitting on my car’s hood, my legs and hands have no idea what to do. I scratch these dry lips with my teeth, is it this that I hate so much, the unknown, the waiting. I try to lose myself in the singing birds and the warm sun. She’s inside, close but so damn far almost at the point of nonexistence.  I feel time caressing my heart into a fast beat, I can feel the veins push and pull the blood as quickly as possible, the thoroughfares won’t clog, but they complain with bulging. I am a mess. I pick at the butt trying too hard to pull the cigarette from the pack, a release, placement, calm. I let the smoke hang around my head. The screen door snaps to her parents house as she walks up the small path to me. Her lips move, but I couldn’t, fuck, I wouldn’t make out the words. She finishes. Her brown eyes are glossy, two tiny versions of me stare back, then comes, just then, all the mistakes I have made.

I drove home, though I don’t recall the journey. My mind spins as I step through the house to get to where the liquor is stored. The cabinet still open I try to reason myself into a drink. The bottle feels heavy in my hand as it balances above the glass. I pour for too long and the bourbon spills over the edge. The bottle flies slowly through the air before connecting with the wall. The glass’ end isn’t as graceful. I fumble with my device, the time is put and things vanish.

I watch the fool and her standing together in front of the movie theater. They argue for sometime about the movie. She storms off and he chases her. The fool catches her as she stands there waiting for the light to change. He spins her around and apologizes. They walk back to the theater as I cross the street and follow them. They decide on the movie she wanted to see, he reaches into his wallet and hands her some cash. I watch her walk inside. When the memory comes back. I turn to him and he’s on the ground. I see a hooded man run away, I give chase. My chest burns as I catch up to him, he turns into an alley, a dead end. “Who are you?!” I yell. He steps into the light, no answers needed. He tells me what the other Karl had told him before, though the meaning had been lost. I use my device and head back. He hands her the money and she walks towards the doors. I sprint towards him, caught off guard the fool falls easily. In an odd way it felt good to hurt him, even though that was me. The other Karl gives chase, too tired to run very far I cut into an alley. A corny reveal and an explanation, he nods a couple times and vanishes.  I do the same.

I can hear her and my voice leak from the house. The time was off, it was supposed after all this. Peering through the window I watch myself make his way to the liquor cabinet, the fool yells as he places the glass and bottle in front of him.  Barely able to make out what is being said I put my ear against the cool glass of the window. “… if I want a drink I can fucking have one, I’m an adult I don’t need you lookin…” she cuts him off “An adult, An adult, if you weren’t so fuck’en immature you wouldn’t need to solve your problems with drinking! You fuck’en lush!”  She yells back. My ear begins to hurt so I remove it from the window, they were yelling enough now that it wasn’t hard to hear them from outside.  “I like to drink so the fuck what!? I can do that, and to call me immature is beyond the fucking stupid, why in the fuck are you trying to be such a bitch right now?!” The fool yells. The line was present and he crossed it. The door swings open and she comes running out in tears.  She backs up and the tires screech a little as she pulls away from the house. The fool stands there, just stands there. I wanted to move him. He heads inside, tripping on his way in. He soon leaves, I head to the room and lay myself on the bed. I pull up the pictures of her on my phone, scrolling through her different smiles. “It’s better for you if it ends, I’m not good enough for you.” I say to her glowing face. I shut my eyes and drift off.

I wake to the sound of the bottle smashing on the wall. I hear the glass next. I tip-toe my way to the door as the fool begins to sob. The smell of 15 year old bourbon makes its way under the door. The fool clears his throat and the house is silent again. I step from the room, the smell is a lot stronger. I clean up the mess I made.

Sitting on the coach drinking my second cup of coffee my phone rings. Her smile bounces on the screen as the ringtone plays. I answer it. “Hello.” My voice comes out softer than I wanted it to. “Hey, I guess I shouldn’t call but I’m worried about you.” I could hear the tears in her voice. “I’m fine, I am.” I wipe my own away. “Oh, well, I, you mean a lot you know, and well, like I said some time may be good you know?” Her voice became strong at the end, like she was sure of herself. “Maybe, time would be.” My voice becomes something that of a frog. “Well, I’ll check up on you soon, bye.” The phone beeps before I can reply. I set the phone to my side, and sip on the coffee some more.

Maybe a week passes by when they come to take her things, to remove them from here. To wipe the physical traces of us. I hurt my shoulder putting her sewing machine into the back of her car. I try not to let her see me wince, but she notices me trying to hide the pain and a half smile appears then vanishes as quickly as it came. We stand in front of her car, within arm’s reach, holding distance. “Well I guess that’s it, I’ll call you okay, just don’t beat yourself up too much, I mean you’re pretty beat up as is.” She finishes and we both smile. I watch the spot where her car disappeared till it gets too cold for me to stand outside. I head in and give the street one last look before closing the door.

These ribs; a cage, a keep that doesn’t calm. I lie on the floor in the middle of the vacuous room. My stomach makes the sound of a beached whale. The ceiling my screen for the memories, they flash back and forth in no particular order. I feel the phantom blades poke against my skin when the memory of our picnic projects itself on the ceiling. I rub my arm and the thought vanishes with the sensation. I roll on my side. The carpet looks as if it stretches for miles. My fingers find their way into a divot left in the carpet by her chair. I consider the slight dent as my finger runs through it, it would seem as if my fingers miss her too.

-Karl