Partner in Crime
(Based on a song I wrote)
If you get caught, you're gonna get shot.
Hide the body before it rots.
Looks like you might not make it out alive-
Tonight, we're gonna run.
Meet me at the rendezvous point just around the block
from the old schoolhouse, believe me it's quite a spot...
We'll take an Uber to the nearest town
buy a train ticket than ditch it so we
won't be found
Got an uncle back in Gladstone,
he'll let us stick around.
But first we gotta put this poor man
underground.
I'll bring a shovel and some clothes
you'll bring some food and a rope
we'll need some money for the road...
I'll bring the bread, you bring the rice.
I'll bring the gun, you bring the knife.
It's gonna be a wild night...
My partner in crime.
Please sir, officer, sir, mister,
I need a cop.
This outlaw murderer, sir, is hiding
around the block.
Please sir, officer, sir, mister
come quiet
This outlaw murderer thinks I'm her
partner in crime...
I'll bring a shovel and some clothes
you'll bring some food and a rope
we'll need some money for the road...
I'll bring the bread, you bring the rice.
I'll bring the gun, you bring the knife.
It's gonna be a wild night...
My partner in crime!
Ugly
She's ugly when she cries
Blotchy red rings around her eyes
They'll stay swollen for awhile,
but she looks so damn pretty when she smiles
She's ugly when she cries,
and I can't answer all of her whys
I don't need her anger in my life
she'll be fine
she'll be alright
but maybe she's terrified you'll go
maybe she's never felt more alone
maybe she's curled up on her closet floor
maybe no one's seen her like that before
And maybe she's talking to herself
pretending she's talking to you
maybe it's better for her to hide
she can't know what you would do
Maybe she put her words into a song for you
for you to listen and love, and sing along to
and "Oh My God her words ring so true"
but maybe it's a cry for help
maybe she doesn't know anyway else
maybe she bites her knuckles to stop her yelps
maybe she holds her breath cause it's shaky as hell...
Because I'm ugly when I cry
Blotchy red rings around my eyes
they'll stay swollen for awhile
but I'll look so goddamn pretty when I smile
No, I'm ugly when I cry,
but you can't answer all of my why's
It's okay, you don't need my pain in your life
I'll be fine,
I'll be alright
Yes, I'm terrified you'll go, I've never felt so alone
I'm curled up on my closet floor- no one has seen me like that before
And I'll keep talking to myself, pretending I'm talking to you.
It's better for me to lie and hide, I don't wanna know what you would do.
But I'll put my words into a poem for you,
for you to read and love, and clap along to,
cause "Oh My God, her words ring so true"
but believe me, it's a cry for help
I haven't learned anyway else
to say what's on my mind
without starting to cry.
Well,
I don't really know how to say this but, I really, really like touching walls.
The Waiting Room
3:56. It was 3:56, read the digital clock in its blaring bright lights.
Tick, tick, tick.
Shaughnessy Grace shifted in her seat, her thighs making a small noise as they unstuck from the plastic bottom. Conscious of her legs in the quiet room, she tugged down her midi shorts, wishing she’d worn her baggy jeans.
“Ness?” Her mom sat beside her, tapping on her phone. Her mom could’ve been in a pixar movie, with her curves and messy bob cut.
Ness looked at her mom.
“I’m gonna go take a call out in the hall. Hang tight, sweetie,” Her mom brushed her wrist as she left, the door closing behind her.
And again, it was quiet. Quiet but for the tick, tick, tick of the clock.
Man sitting across from her, one chair to the left, let out a sigh as he checked his watch again.
Ness looked up at the clock.
It was 3:56.
His ankle was resting on his knee, his business shirt stretching across his potbelly stomach. His hairline was disappearing, the silver along the edges and deep forehead grooves a clear sign of his stress. A briefcase rested against his chair, tucked behind the leg supporting the ankle.
He checked his watch.
“Ness? Is that your name?”
The woman sitting in her row, in the corner of the small room, leaned over the arm of her plastic chair. Her toddler sat in the chair on the adjacent wall, flipping through a picture book.
Ness was a bit startled, but she nodded.
“I couldn’t help but notice your eyes earlier- they’re beautiful,” The woman smiled.
Nessa frowned slightly, then stopped, remembering the man in front of her, who was now also staring at her.
Her eyes were ordinary eyes. Brown, almost black, with little bags and trimmed eyebrows.
“Thank you,” she smiled back, then dropped her gaze to her shorts again.
The woman leaned back into her chair, looking around.
Tick, tick, tick.
The room was dim, an amber glow from a single lamp in the corner the only thing providing light. The man was two seats away from the lamp. So was the boy. Nessa was the farthest.
The boy swung his legs back and forth, as if searching for the floor, his tempo just slightly ahead of the ticking.
Tick, Tick, Tick.
The man sighed and checked his watch again.
Nessa looked at the woman, who now had her head leaning back on the beige wall behind her, eyes closed. She’d been so nice and smiley, but looking at her, Nessa saw somebody who was… tired. She wore sweatpants and a large jacket over a baggy t-shirt, dark circles under her eyes and deep cheekbones. Her hair had a couple gray streaks playing through the brown locks. The boy beside her was blonde, and wore a t-shirt for Seaside Baptist Elementary.
“What are you reading?” The man spoke suddenly, startling Nessa.
The boy looked up, bright green eyes to match his mothers penetrating the old man.
“I’m reading a story,” he began, tasting each word in his month before it left, “about a kid who made one second last forever.”
Tick, tick, tick.
“Oh? What does he do?”
“She.”
“Oh. What does she do?”
“Well,” he tilts his head as if to remember, “She does lots of things- she goes to the park, she eats free ice cream, she blows up balloons, and swings in a swing. She even kicked her bully at school.”
“That sounds like fun,” The old man sighed contentedly, massaging his silvery hair with his wrinkled fingers.
The boy shook his head.
“It was for a while, but she was lonely. She would stare at people for hours. People halfway through their conversations, people jumping into a pool, people jumping from rung to rung on the playgrounds. She’d stare at her mom, who was at work, and her dad, who sat at home, looking at a receipt. She’d look at her brother, who it took her forever to find. She would even stare at her bully, talking to him for hours. She read all kinds of books and went to all sorts of places, though she couldn’t fly a plane or drive a car very far, not usually.
She never got to fall in love, but she spoke with and hugged and loved everyone she met, everyone she knew. And she grew old. And eventually, she died, staring up at the sky, in a park surrounded by people.”
Nessa looked at the boy. It was heavy stuff for a kid. His knee bounced and jumped nervously, as if he was trying to hammer a ditch in the ugly green carpet. She met his eyes, which stared out at her from under his blond bangs, boring into her soul. She looked away.
“Ahhh…” The man sighed, leaning back into his chair as if to think. He checks his watch again, adjusts once or twice, then falls asleep, his frail body dwarfed by his suit, one made for someone much younger.
Tick, Tick, Tick.
Nessa stared at her fingernails, picking at a piece here and there, wondering when her mother was coming back.
“There he goes,” The boy said sadly. Nessa frowned, looking at him, the way his book hung limply from his hands, hands that connected to strong arms, arms that connected eventually to a face with bright green eyes, eyes that were staring at the old man.
It looked like the old man hadn’t moved in years. His skin was gray, with little purple veins Nessa hadn’t noticed before, his silver hair clinging to his head.
He was dead, or so Nessa thought. She looked at the boy to see if he had come to the same conclusion. He was staring right at her.
“Noah?”
He kept staring, not surprised that she knew his name.
“Are we alone?”
She looked at his mom, who’d been so kind, so tired, and saw that she was also dead. She didn’t bother to look at the door- she knew she wouldn’t find it.
Noah nodded.
She looked back down at her lap, at her stupid nails, her stupid jeans, the stupid floor, knots in the hardwood staring right back at her.
“Ness?”
She looked back at him. He was alone, his mother gone from his side. His hair fell in his eyes, but she could still see them.
“It’s glad to have you back,” He gave her a half smile.
She nodded, offering a quick smile. She’d known this man all her life. She’d fought demons in her dreams with him, ran through playgrounds and club houses and labs and kingdoms, mazes and fields, and schools and rivers, all of it by his side. Nobody knew her like he did, and nobody knew him like she.
Looking at the clock, she saw that it was 3:56.
Tick, Tick, Tick.
The man was gone. It was just them, Noah and Ness. There was never anything else, never anything at all.
She leaned back, her head pressing into the blue wall behind her, closing her eyes.
Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick….
The stranger had brown eyes. Brown eyes and an awkward coat.
The stranger had dark eyes. Dark eyes and a leather backpack slung over her shoulder, a book in hand.
He sat in a chair by the window, framed by the cloudy outdoors and dreary streets outside, the shelves upon shelves of books over his opposite shoulder. He held a novel in his lap. Looking up once, he looked back down.
She paused to let the door close behind her, slightly shaking her shoulders as if the cold was a coat she could simply shrug off. Then she crossed the room to the counter, ordering a jasmine tea.
He sat in a plush leather chair by the window, enraptured in his novel. I could ask him what book he was reading. He would recommend the book to me, giving me his number so I could give my review.
She ordered her tea, subconsciously tapping the spine of her book with her thumb. I could recommend the novel I was reading; it would certainly strike up conversation. I could give her my number so that I could get her opinion later on.
He would ask me out to coffee, where we’d walk the narrow streets side by side but not touching. We’d discuss the book, then exchange more recommendations: a stupid excuse to keep talking.
I’d ask her on a date, but disguise it as coffee and interest in books. We’d go for coffee maybe once a month, soon turning into once a week. We’d begin reading together, her in my leather chair, me at her feet, leaning my head against her knees as we read stories in our heads.
We’d read our separate stories, breaking each other’s concentration with laughs or chuckles, or expressions of frustration. I might ask him to confirm a theory, a theory to which he’d suppress a smile and seal his lips.
I’d leave for university, and we’d decide to write letters. She’d have messily scrawled writing, writing that showed that she wrote often, but had to get her thoughts down quickly before another one took over. Our letters would take about a week to arrive to the other, envelopes full with the ideas and encounters of the other. I’d show up to surprise her, standing in front of her college as she left the building with her friends.
He’d show up at my college, and I’d run to him, flinging my arms around his shoulders as he lifted me, and we’d swing around in a circle. I’d laugh breathlessly, as we love each other to the fullest. He’d offer his arm in a polite manner and I’d take it, still laughing, and we’d stop at this exact coffee shop on our way to my apartment. We would then stay up past midnight, chatting and laughing. Eventually I’d lay on his chest, reading aloud while he stroked my hair, and we’d fall asleep that way.
I’d stand at the train station, one hand tangled in her fingers, one hand tangled in her hair, and I’d kiss her for the first time, quickly and gently, and I’d watch the color rush into her face, and she’d smile. She’d make me promise to write, and I’d agree, stroking her cheek gently with my thumb before I pulled away, the train readying to leave. Her hand would rest in the air, and my heart would leap into it, a deep yearning permeating my stomach as the train pulled out of the station, and I’d watch her disappear into the distance, lazy rain slicing across the glass.
We’d have little fights, causing us to fall out of our writing schedule. He would want me to come to him over break but I’d have family things to attend too. I’d grow frustrated when he’d forget to write, and I’d think he’d lost interest. I’d often wonder if I myself had lost interest. I would get sad, and escape into my books. But never the ones he recommended. I stopped writing, and I stopped opening the letters.
I begin to think she’s upset, that I may be losing her. I buy a train ticket the moment I get out of school and head to her place, pounding on the door, trying not to break it down. After a moment she would open it, peering out at me. A look of shock would appear on her face as she wouldn’t have expected me to be there, especially so late at night but I wouldn’t wait for her to adjust. I’d rush in and envelope her in my arms and breathe in the scent of her hair, stumbling forward and cradling her as she lost her balance. She’d mutter something into my chest but I wouldn’t hear. I’d pull back and look over her earnestly.
I’d stutter over my words, the shock of emotion racing up my spine and heating my face. I’d ask him what he was doing here, what about school? He’d shake his head and mumble how it wasn’t important, nowhere near as important as this was. And I’d start to cry, but he’d brush the tears from my eyes and kiss me, different from the way he had when he’d said goodbye. It would be passionate. He’d kiss me like it was the last day we’d ever see each other and I’d lean into him like he was the only thing keeping me standing. We’d fall asleep like that, in each other’s arms, me in my pajamas, him in his awkward coat. He’d stay through the weekend. I’d ask when I’d see him again. He’d say he doesn’t have to leave. He’d offer, really. I’d shake my head, and I’d promise to wait for him.
I’d propose a few months after she started university. A few months after we’d fully moved in together. We’d have been dating for about two years at that point. We’d plan to elope- some of her family, some of my brothers and friends, the couple running the coffee shop, her professor at university. We’d elope in the botanical gardens over behind the old post office on 22nd. She’d wear her grandmother’s wedding dress, and I’d wear a rented tux. We’d go back to the apartment for our honeymoon- we didn’t have enough time to travel, at least not yet.
Eventually we’d travel the world together, seeing the most wonderful castles and dancing through the most wonderful forests. We’d take pictures in the salt flats and beaches, and travel on camelback across vast deserts. We’d weave through the bazaars of Rajasthan and the narrow alleys of Venice. Then we’d go home to our little apartment, and begin saving for a good town home in the city. When we’d move into the townhome, we’d line the walls with books and fill the windows with plants. I’d work as an editor and writer, and a blogger. He’d work as a writer and a professor. We’d talk every night, and speak every morning.
I’d bring her coffee every morning; that’s when we’d speak. We’d speak about the things we’d forgotten to mention the night before, or what adventures the day might hold, or the dreams we’d had at night. Every now and then we’d have the same dream, and our faces would light up, having to convince the other that it really happened, and they’d believe, because we wanted to. I’d bring her coffee every morning, especially when we would have the kids. We’d have two. A girl, who would be two and a half years older than the boy. The boy would be blonde, which must’ve come from his great grandmother on his mom’s side.
The girl would also have a surprise- bright green eyes. Those eyes would look down on all of them with disdain. The boy would grow up and get really into video games, despite his mother’s disapproval (and possibly my own) and the girl would be out about the town day in and day out. She would practice piano on the old out-of-tune Kingsbury we’d found in a garage sale. We'd eventually have a cat.
The girl would get her heart broken multiple times, and while in college, she’d start her own blog, which received attention. Her research and questions, along with her degree in theory and philosophy, would earn her way to the TED stage, where she’d gain even more professional attention. The boy would rebel all throughout high school, but find someone he loved quite quickly, despite how little he’d left the house. They’d move out to the suburbs and get a couple dogs. Me and my husband would roam about the house, going about our work, missing the sound of clunky piano notes and children’s squabbling voices. We kept artwork and report cards all over our walls. The owners of the coffee shop grew old and died, and as a result, the shop closed down. He would make me coffee every morning, and we’d sit at the plant covered windows, soaking up the sights of the city and tell each other the things that we’d forgotten to tell each other the night before. we’d visit our children, or our children would visit us- eventually we retired, substituting at colleges or elementary schools, but never at middle schools or high schools. We’d volunteer at the libraries every now and then, or at the opera house. Our cat would slink around the empty home, chasing invisible flies until he too, had been put to rest.
And we’d grow old together like that, chatting and sipping our coffee, reading our books and visiting our children. We’d walk the parks and the narrow streets, and eventually, we’d die, our graves side by side in an old cemetery no one would ever visit, our names rubbing down with the rain and the wind, moss slowly creeping up like the plants in our window.
“Your tea, Ma’am,” the barista set down the mug on the counter. I smiled and took it to the table by the window.
I watched her sit down, coffee in hand, opening the novel and brushing some hair out of her eyes.
And they read books.
The End
Prologue
The grim reaper was a boy, with transparent skin and a black robes.
The grim reaper had a key- though many thought it was a scythe.
The grim reaper existed in between life and beyond, wherever that may be. Time was linear, though unimportant. He’d turn around, and there would be a child, or an old man, or a baby, or a woman. Sometimes they sat there and cussed him out. “Get away from me!” they’d shout. “Leave me alone, it’s not my time yet!” they’d cry. Other times they’d stare off blankly, and let him guide them to the door.
The door was a funny thing- one of his best friends. The door and the key. He’d wait with the newly dead, he’d walk with them, until a door appeared in the black void. Sometimes it would take a while- other times it’d take no time at all. He usually loved the former- the longer visitors usually told him more about Life, about the Before. But when the door appeared, they’d never stay. And he never asked them too.
“Are you ready?” He’d ask instead.
They would always say yes. He’d hand them the key, and they’d stick it into the massive lock.
“Go ahead, turn the key,” he’d step away and watch them turn the heavy key, the little blue lights of their life would race through the grooves along the stick, and the key would glow, the door clicking open, leading you to After. Some went to what could be described as Heaven. Others went to Hell. Some reincarnated, or so he assumed.
He remembered them all. There were hundreds upon thousands upon trillions, but he remembered every single one. Their faces, their reactions, how much they spoke, what they said, and even how long they stayed.
So when someone came back, he knew.
I mean, it could’ve been a doppelgänger, there were plenty of those. The little drop of omniscience that came with his being told him otherwise.
“Uh… hello there!”
Her eyes were just a bit wider than they were supposed to be, her dimple appearing to one side of her mouth as she smiled. She knew who he was and she had an idea that she wasn’t supposed to be there.
“Haven’t I seen you before?” he smiled, trying to seem like this was totally normal. He got the sense that she saw through him anyway.
“Maybe.”
He frowned. He was hoping she’d prove him wrong.
“Hey, don’t look at me, I don’t know,” She held her hands up in defense, “However, I have a strange feeling you’re going to see a lot more of me.” She offered a sheepish grin, almost apologetic.
“I don’t understand,” He cocked his head and looked at the girl curiously.
“Oh,” it was her turn to frown. “Well, I died, and then I walked through your door thingy and woke up two weeks before the death. I just kinda chalked it up to a dream and continued living, until I died again. Seeing you, it all kinda came back to me.”
He stared at her in wonder, deep in thought. After so many people, she was the first to come twice.
“This isn’t supposed to happen, is it?” It was less of a question, more of a statement. The grim reaper just kinda shrugged, not really knowing what was supposed to happen.
“There’s a first time for everything, I guess.”
She nodded. Then something behind him caught her eye, and she dropped her head to the side, leaning to peak around him.
“Aaaand there’s the door. I guess it’s time to go back?” The grim reaper, took a quick glance over his shoulder to see the ancient door, confirming with a nod of his head and disbelief.
“Are- Are you ready?” He stuttered. It was so much faster than the first time. She was more quiet for most of it, talking briefly at the beginning and briefly at the end.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Alright then.” He stuck the key in the door and stepped back. “You know what to do,”
She stared at the key, then looked back up at him.
“Goodbye, then.”
He nodded once, giving a quick, wan smile. She grabbed the key, her life bouncing quickly through the grooves. The door clicked open. And she was gone.
Another dream I had
Running from the cops
Big city, dirty, it's night
on the outside of a building,
red, white, and blue lights- got inside,
fell into a washing mashine with my partner in crime
She found us, but this lady's nice
Leads us to a cupboard, tells us to hide.
See a hallway, we follow the passage
Now we're in a school, disguised in whatever we can find
Shit, these people are supposed to know each other
We shouldn't have left that nice lady's cupboard
Try to make our way back but we can't find the way
The police are here, they're walking around, blend in.
No! Ryan! that's the Principal's spot!
Oh shit, there's the principal, we just got caught.
Run.
I don't wanna leave you behind, praying you catch up.
Slide in the elevator, press the bottom floor-
I see you coming yelling "HOLD THE F***ING DOOR!"
I stop the doors, you're running, run in
I close them again, they're coming, don't come in.
Finally.
We're safe for a bit but they'll catch us when we come out
"bottom floor really the best decision?" I ask
you shake youyou shake your head, catching your breath
"They'll find us whatever floor we come out on"
you've got glow sticks and pipe cleaners taped to the grey trashbag you're wearing over your shirt.
the elevator hits the ground- hear people talking outside, oh shit
but the elevator keeps sinking
wtf
ah, ouch, it's getting hard to think, to see, no
musta blacked out, but woke up when I hit the ground, tumbled out, you're behind me.
We lay there-everything feels empty
you can't open your eyes, It's getting hard for me.
The little I see- Cars in the sky, too many
Wrench them open again, now there's people, a million, floating dead there in the sky
above a familiar city.It's sunny
But the sun's nowhere to be found.
My eye's closed again- it's so hard to get them openIf it changes everytime are you seeing what I'm seeing?
Ah, They're open, It's easier now- there are some cars on the clean, empty streets of the 6:00 city, the sky's only floating with pieces of construction and construction cars.
You can see now too.
We stand up and start to walk around
Where are we? Who knows about this? Can we go back? We get to the end of the block and start seeing people.
They're dressed really weird, kinda tall
We see teens walking to a feild on the right
we follow them until we get to some airbags we're vandalizing with crayola markers
I lose you here, but there's a girl in front of me dressed just like you.
"Oh Sorry! I thought you were my friend Ryan! he's dressed just like you!"
I don't think she likes me very much.
But then again, Nobody does.
She says she'll keep an eye out for Ring
I think it's funny that she calls you Ring
I follow the crowd
There's a guy behind me with three little siblings, a girl in front of me laughs with him.
"they wanted to come.
she's cool, a bit familiar
I ask them if they came from above
we call this world the left world
"No, we're the only people who come to this world"
I try to prove her wrong
"Me and Ring- I mean Ryan..." I start talking about the I thing as I blink and it's a bit hard to open themagain.
It looks like all these kids- at least a hundred- are surrounding an abandoned outdoor shuffleboard club.
I see the back of my sister.
"Oh, she's from above too,"
They tolerate me but pretend I'm lyingtelling people I must not have taken my meds
I walk over to my sister, ask her to prove me right
She recognizes me but pretends I'm lying, cause I must not have taken my meds
I'm beginning to wonder if it's dangerous to come from topside
I stay quiet, following my sister and her group of friends - I still haven't seen Ring
I wonder if I dreamed it all when my sister turns her head towards me, her pupils and irises an milky white
she's blinks and it's gone but I saw
wake up
This Dream I had
Business City, College, Clean
Bunker's below, Nice
Hiding little sister, she's not the only one who needs to hide
I'm in Disguise,
buying supplies supplies so she doesn't get bored.
There lots of teenagers in an airport
They're on a mission, don't trust one another-
Two of them used to be in love with each other
They found us
Wake Up
Parasite
I drank the Kool-aid, believing everything you said was true.
Every morning, never questioned, as I pledged my loyalty to you.
But they told me it was all a lie, try to keep an open mind-
I didn't believe them, or at least I tried...
But you lied.
"It's a failing plan," more like a falling plane
They're throwing cargo off the back to lose some extra weight
grab the parachute, but it's too late.
They warned us of the flood, but never of the fire,
wanna call you a liar, I desire to conspire
But maybe you never knew either.
And I stay up at night,
wondering what's wrong and right,
but lately I think it might
be better if we didn't survive.
No I stay up at night,
wondering what's wring and right,
but lately I think I might
have been feeding a parasite.
Hey :)
Hey, I'm Charlie. Unless I'm Olivia. Or maybe Reese. But mostly I'm Charlie.
I don't hate my name anymore, but sometimes I don't want to give it out so freely. So sometimes I'll say "Hi, I'm Olivia Whittaker."
But not usually.
I fight with my mind.
In a sibling kind of way sometimes, in a heartbroken kinda way sometimes.
But I still love my mind.
It's not like I have a choice.
So my mind hides behind all these names and shouts all these words to the world, and I don't stop her, as long as she doesn't hurt me.
And when she does hurt me, I make sure I don't think. I watch a show to drown her out, to lull her to sleep.
But most of the time it's okay. Most of the time I let her run free and try to record the ride.
Most of the time I love my mind.