Apartment 405Apartment 405Something odd happened in my old apartment building.Well, no, the word odd is putting it lightly; the better word for it would be unexplainable for me at least. Something happened that I’m sure no one would believe me.Mainly, it happened in the apartment above mine.There was this tenant, a man I think, he would always be yelling, shouting, but it was so muffled I couldn’t hear what’s being said, but that’s normally because I would try not to notice it, my work keeps me busy so I tend to not notice everything around me right away.But the first time it happened, it startled me so bad I broke my favorite coffee mug from the sudden noise. The noise was a loud bang, as if something heavy was being dropped from high up, like the guy decided it would be a good idea to toss his bowling ball around for fun.While cleaning up I waited to hear if someone decided to go and give the guy a good talking too, or if I would be hearing a yelling match wit
Watching Weeds Growthe body stowedin the foldaway bed was minemy dreams died there eyes open lips closedaround cool burnt metallic darkunlatch, unfoldrelease me springs speak the creak of years in cellar air dank secrets whispered, wishedsump pump kicks on grids, stirs not dark or light only dreamsdoubled over dead-footed and grey watching weeds grow in the window wellsescape is passed in painful streams &
The Trouble With Serial KillerThere are certain hazards when living with a serial killer. Unfortunately for Mali, he was not aware that those hazards extended to the kitchen."Hey Danny boy, I'm going to get myself some ice cream, do you want-" What had started off as a normal question ended in more of a scream. "What the hell is that?" Daniel looked over from the couch, and upon seeing his boyfriend's reaction he stood and walked lazily into the kitchen. "What's what?"Mali pointed inside of the freezer. "That! What the hell is that thing?""Oh." Daniel's casual reaction was a stark contrast to Mali's complete and total spazzing. "That would be a hand.""I see that!""Well then why did you as-""What the hell is a severed hand doing in our freezer?""It's freezing. You don't want to keep these things just laying around, they'll get all-""You don't keep them in the freezer either!"Daniel crossed h
Things I Would Tell HerI want to tell her the thingsI'll tell her when she’s older,but the information terrifies her.In order of importance:she has luna moths in her head,monarch butterflies in her stomach,and a feral fetus in her womb.Her handsare collapse-clasped and foldedin her lap;she holds her elbows like wingsaway from her ribs,ready to flap,to flutter,to fly.I want to tell herto keep one hand in her purseso she can always find her keys,to keep an eye on the doorand the door always openso she can run if she doesn't feel safe,but her cheeks are rorschach-splotch redand the tension in her shoulderswarns me she's not readyto hear this.And there is the possibility thatmaybe I’m not ready to tellthis fourteen-year-oldnow woman,I’m just as devastated as her;that she is surrounded by friends and familywho are violated by a communitywhere no man can say yes all men.
Concrete and Glass Minutesthis heavy waitpounds out the minutesof falling buildingsthe last minutesconcrete and glass minutespapers, broken conduitseconds of sparkfire, smoke wellsand upa horizon thruststhe unforgivinglyhard floorof its collectiona human wind gathershaving escaped lungstoo quicklyto smell like fearinstead, it smellsmore like why, or whatand it tastes impossiblelike unstirred ingredientspowdered blood, ground rebarhalf-digested tileteeth bitten throughlove trapped in wordsthat never made it out
A Leaf, Fallen (trigger warning)there is no manual for lossnot one that fits in human handsjust programs, policiesand symbols for the staff,unassuming, visual remindersto execute the sensitivitiesoutlined in their traininggrief is a symbol, nicely-printedon quality cardstock,grief is placed strategicallyin and outside the room,its scene stands outas darker than it actually issince its placardhosts the only real colorson a ward of pastel pinks,blues and yellowsand there, within the four sidesof its cleanly cut cardstock,a leaf floats, too lightto break the surface tensionof a still streami'm sure a marketing study was performedvarious walks of life, assembledinto panels of votes takenand consensus reachedas to what imagewould stand out enoughbut not too much,as to what could shift the mindtoward peace and reflection,but, more importantly,away from what just happenedand i didn't botherremembering the room numberbecause, within that pastel cellblock,ours was the only doormarked with