*

That woman over there–she's miserable.

She pastes on a smile in the morning light,

But shatters to pieces in her pillow each night.

She rises early, she showers, she glues

false beauty with potions and paints– she's a muse.

She has ten personalities tucked in her head

–or maybe let's just call them masks, instead.

Today she is timid, her shoulders slump in,

she's ever so quiet, she tucks down her chin.

Tomorrow relentless, she stands on her toes,

she sneers, and she smirks, and she sticks up her nose.

On Wednesday she's beautiful, kind, and fair,

easy to laugh, with long unbound hair.

On Thursday she's broody, and angry, and mean,

but at least that means her house might be clean.

On Friday she dances, she sings, she romances.

On Saturday hides from her husband's advances.

On Sunday she's prayerful, she's innocent, sweet,

with stockings and light polished heels on her feet.

She's everything, nothing, and all in between.

But really she's only a wisp of a dream.

She's fading away–

—Holy hell, stop with the rhyming. 'She's fading away…' Blah. Blah. Blah. Fuck that. I'm going to kill her. I'm going to rip off her mask and show this wretched world what's hiding underneath. I'm going to be her. She will be strong, and she will be kind, and she will be reckless and righteous and playful and angry and sweet all at the same time. I will burn her masks, and we will step into the light, tall and proud and ruthlessly passionate.

I just wish I could tell her, before I kill her, that she never needed to hide. That all she ever really needed to do was be. That if the world didn't like what they saw, it didn't matter one single iota. The world doesn't have to live under her skin. Only she does. I would have told her that she could be brave and fall apart and glue herself back together. I would have told her that none of it was a contradiction. And maybe then I wouldn't have to kill her. Maybe then she'd hear me. But that is a dream, isn't it? I've been screaming at her for years from underneath the mask.

She's deaf to my pleas.

So I'll do it.

I won't delay any longer.

I stab my knife behind the mask, prying it from her skull, peeling skin and flesh away along with it. I want to see her eyes as she dies, as she fades away.

She is afraid.

Terror rolls in nauseating waves. She doesn't want to let go. She tries to shove me off, but I press into her with all of my weight. I am heavier than her now.

I've been feeding on every dead dream she ever cast aside to my little corner in the back of her mind. I let them flash in my eyes now as I raise the knife to her chest. She bucks under me, but it is hopeless and she caves, like I knew she would, for she is weak and she never did have the strength to stand up to me. She had to keep me hidden instead. I plunge the knife into her heart and hot blood pools around my fingers, seeping into my skin, coating me down to my soul in everything that was her.

I rise, draped in a cloak of scarlet blood.

My head is held high, swimming with dreams.

A worthy prize, for killing her.

*Okay, listen-- I know I didn't really do the challenge right, but this just started flowing and I ran with it.

Quashed in reality 

Depressed with its brutality

I left its shore

Wanting to explore

What was there on the other side

With health and wealth beside

Along with friends, family and my bride

I marched on with pride

With majestic powers at my feet

Impossible became my defeat

But wait, you have a chance to have pity on my fate

As I'm too late

To get back to reality

Because I'm now a split personality

“Something‘s missing. Something‘s wrong.

I used to know where I belong,

but now each day feels like a fight.

Nothing in my life feels right.

My mom tap-dances on my nerves.

My father has this way with words

that makes me feel like I’m a child.

My credit bill is running wild...

And then there’s the environment...

Let’s not start on the President!

My friends are all so self-obsessed,

and my chihuahua is possessed!

My Facebook posts are massive fails,

I’m terrified of vapor trails...

Oh, I just want the world to stop!”

“... Ma’am, this is a coffee shop.”

#therapy #coffee #chihuahua #whatisthepointofthese #challengeoftheweek

My eye, I spy:

Buy tie?

Sky high!

Spry, try?

...Shy guy.

Wry sigh...

Bye.

The sun did not shine.

It was too cold to write

so I went to the bar

on that wet, dreary night.

I had me a beer

then another or two;

I was fatally bored.

I had nothing to do.

But then the door opened.

Some people came in.

They were singing and laughing,

revved up by the wind.

That’s when I saw him,

his hat large and loose.

He came straight to my table,

my pal, Dr. Suess.

He sat and he smiled.

He chuckled and grinned.

He pinched my cheeks madly

and said, “Let’s begin!”

He ordered Sam Adams

and green eggs and ham.

He talked about writing

and said, “Here’s my plan!

“I’ll write about flub-jubs

and hespery-gogs

with slithery ponkles

and starry-tailed dogs.

Tiny French bongtruffles!

Salted McGees!

Hand-colored grackles,

and goo-birds with cheese...”

Seuss got so excited

he jumped to his feet,

spat out his beer foam

and whistled, “Tweeeeet tweeeet!”

That beer must be strong;

it went right to his head.

He frisbee’d the green eggs.

It filled me with dread.

He hopped on the table

and tapped out a dance.

I had a bad feeling;

he winked me a glance.

“Don’t worry,” he said,

hopping down to the floor.

“We’ll not get kicked out

of that fine wooden door.

“For I can repair this!

It’s magic! You’ll see.

I brought some Things with me,

Things One, Two, and Three.”

They sprang from his hat.

Then, with twinkling eyes,

Dr. Suess sat back down

as the barkeep came by.

“You clean up this mess!

You clean it up now!

Or I’ll call the cops!

This is just not allowed.”

So Thing One swept the floor

and Thing Two did the dishes.

Thing Three licked up green eggs,

said, “These are delicious!”

They dried all the glasses

and put them away.

They wiped every table

and called it a day.

The barkeep was happy;

his place was so clean!

So very much cleaner

than he’d ever seen.

He offered to hire them,

Things One, Two, and Three.

My pal, Dr. Suess said,

“Hey! What about ME?”

“You should stick to your writing.

Your act is not funny.

Keep on writing stories,

come back when it’s sunny.”

Suess counted his dough.

He looked pretty rough.

He paid, he was ploughed,

he’d had more than enough.

He put on his hat

and finished his beer.

Pushed in his chair

and said, “I’m outta here.”

Some fish are red fish.

Some fish are blue.

Dr. Suess made them all up.

I wish they were true.

I drank my warm beer

and stood up on my feet

and shuffled on home,

back to Mulberry Street.

“That’ll do it, thank you,” I say, smiling, as I take the roses. Logan has always loved flowers, and orange roses most of all. Orange roses aren’t easy to find, mind you. But they’ve always been his favorite, so they’re worth the search. Red roses are too cliché, he’d say. Orange roses are the standout of the rose family. They mean enthusiasm and passion. Isn’t that the best combination?

I’d smile and kiss him. Well, it’s certainly the combination I feel about being your boyfriend, I’d reply.

Now, I tuck the bouquet of orange roses, wrapped in cellophane, under one arm as I begin my walk to the final destination: Logan himself. The engagement ring presses against my thigh, nestled safely in the front pocket of my khakis. In my other hand is the picnic basket (okay, technically more of a large lunchbox), packed with the Chinese takeout I just picked up on my previous stop. Let’s be honest, I can’t cook. Even if I could, Logan’s favorite is Chinese.

It’s our anniversary today. I haven’t seen him in a few months, so tonight has to be perfect. All the pieces in place. Our anniversary is only one day a year, after all. And I’ve never loved anyone like I love Logan.

I remember when we first met. God, it seems like forever ago. We were so young! Freshmen in college.

It was in the library. Cliché, I know. I was sitting at one of the big desks on the second floor, reading some book about public policy and trying to take notes on the chapter. I had a test the next morning. I’d been there for four hours.

Suddenly Logan came sprinting up the stairs and emerged into the main space. He was laughing wildly, his backpack slipping off his shoulders, glancing behind him urgently. He paused, looked around, almost ran for the shelves, but then turned the other way. We made brief eye contact. I quickly looked down, my face reddening. I did not want to be associated with this guy who had attracted the attention, and outrage, of everyone nearby. Students were glaring at him from every direction.

And then it was too late. He came skidding by me, ducked, and literally rolled under the desk, now hidden beneath it and invisible from view to everyone but me. I stared at him in shock. “What the fu-”

“Shh,” he said. “Please. It’s important. I’ll owe ya one.”

At that moment three guards from campus security made it up the stairs. They looked around desperately. All the other students had, of course, gone right back to studying as soon as the commotion quieted down. Once their bubble was peaceful again, they no longer cared. I glanced down at the guy quite literally crammed under the desk – he barely fit – and something in his eyes made me swallow the announcement of He’s right here, officers.

I just returned to my notes. They were gone, heading back down the stairs, two minutes later. The guy immediately unfolded himself, crawled out, and promptly sat on the desk.

“What the hell was that?” I demanded in an angry whisper. “I better not have just helped out some criminal.”

He laughed out loud. I could feel the daggers being glared at us. “Nah. Nothing serious. I stole a road sign. They want it back.”

“You – what?”

He reached into his backpack and pulled out a street name sign: Campus Drive. It was the one that marked one of the main university roads. I stared at it, then at him in shock, but he’d tucked it away again as quickly as he’d revealed it. He grinned. “For my dorm room. A nice touch, don’t ya think?”

It was only now that I was noticing how cute he was. Cute? Harvey, what? You have a girlfriend.

“I – yeah, sure.” I looked back down at my notes, hoping he’d leave. He didn’t. I could feel him watching me as I wrote, and my face reddened. “Why are you staring at me?”

He was smiling. “I said I’d owe you one. Come on. Let me buy you dinner.”

Now I truly blushed. His smile broadened. “Oh, I – I’m straight.”

He laughed out loud again. More glares. “Just as a friend, then. You look like you need a break.”

I considered. It was getting late, and I was hungry. “Sure,” I finally said.

When I was packed up we left the library together. “I’m Logan, by the way,” he said. “Logan Winter. Freshman studying architecture.”

He was only a few inches taller than me, but I was fighting to keep up with his long, confident strides. “Only a freshman and you’re already stealing signs? Jesus.”

He laughed. “Hey, age has nothing to do with how much trouble I can get into. And that’s not how this goes. You’re supposed to introduce yourself.”

“Oh, I’m Har-”

“Wait.” He abruptly stopped walking and held out his arm, stopping me too. “Look at those.” He pointed. Between the library and the dining hall was a quad with a small garden to one side, which we were passing. In it were roses of all colors. He was pointing at the orange roses. “Look at them. Orange roses are so unique. I love that we have some here. Red roses are nice, but so cliché. Orange roses, though – wow. They mean passion and enthusiasm, did you know that? Isn’t that a great combination?”

I looked at the flowers. They were nice, sure, but I didn’t really care about rose colors. “Uh, yeah.”

He waved his hand dismissively, smiled, and suddenly resumed walking. I scrambled to follow. “Anyway, you were saying?”

“Oh. Uh. I’m Harvey. I’m a freshman too. Political science and pre-law.”

He whistled. “Wow. Smart one, huh?” He turned and eyed me up and down. “Smart and cute but straight? How unfair of the world to throw you in my path.”

I blushed; I was flattered, even if I currently thought I was straight. Spoiler alert: I wasn’t. “Um, well, you’re…pretty good-looking yourself.” Really, Harvey? That’s what you came up with?

He winked. “Appreciate it. Now come on, I’m starving.”

He led me into the dining hall. We ended up sitting at the table talking for two hours past the end of our dinner. It turned out, he was a pretty awesome guy, and once I regained some of my social skills, we got along better than I’d gotten along with anyone in ages.

Towards the end he grabbed my phone. “I really like you, Harv. Let’s be friends, what do you say?” He passed the phone back to me. It had a new number in it, next to the name Logan and an octopus emoji. He winked. “Very underappreciated animal. Did you know they have three hearts?”

I failed my test the next morning, but Logan and I met up again for lunch afterwards. So I didn’t really care.

Now, walking along the street with my lunchbox on one side and the flowers on the other, an elderly man sitting at the bus stop smiles at me. “Must be a real amazing girl,” he says.

I smile back. “Oh, he is. The most amazing guy,” I answer.

His grin doesn’t falter. “Hope he likes them,” he says, waving, as I continue past.

I hope so too.

I take a left at the next crosswalk and continue on my way. It’s a nice night out. I’m very grateful for that. Last year it rained on our anniversary. Don’t get me wrong, I still enjoyed it, but it made everything more complicated. And I was so worried about the roses getting waterlogged.

Tonight, though, it’s beautiful.

I remember I was so hesitant at first, so confused. I think I’d always known deep down that I didn’t like girls in the same way my brother or friends did. But I didn’t really find out the difference between what I was feeling in a relationship and what I could feel in a relationship until Logan.

It was gradual at first. We spent all our time together, but I still thought it was just in a best friend kind of way. I learned in a matter of weeks that his favorite food was orange chicken – preferably from the greasiest Chinese takeout place available – and that despite his frequent daring feats, he was terrified of horror movies. He didn’t get along with his family; his dad had stopped speaking to him after he’d come out. He loved to read, and his favorite was To Kill a Mockingbird. I want to name my first cat Atticus, he’d said.

We studied together, we ate together, we met up between classes to talk or sit in the gardens. Soon I was spending all my time with him; my girlfriend broke up with me because I wasn’t paying any attention to her. I apologized and felt bad, I really did, but in a way I was glad when she was gone: I didn’t have anyone to distract me from Logan.

A month after we’d met is when I finally got my shit together and opened my eyes. Caroline had broken up with me a few days before.

“She doesn’t know what she’s missing,” said Logan for the hundredth time. He was sprawled on my bed, head hanging upside down over the side. His dark curls were everywhere, a cloud around his face.

I found myself thinking, yet again, that he was attractive. Not in the I’m envious way I’d been trying to convince myself I meant. “Yeah,” I said. “It was a long time coming.”

“I’m sorry if it’s because of me,” he said. “I’ll go fight for her back if you want. I’ll beg forgiveness, say it was all my fault, ‘Oh, Caroline, please take him back, poor Harvey was simply influenced by my evil ways.’”

I laughed. “Nah, won’t be necessary.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.” He chuckled. I was sitting on the floor, my back against the bedframe, our faces inches apart but not facing. He wasn’t looking at me. I found myself staring at his lips as they moved. “But for what it’s worth, I-”

I interrupted him by swiftly closing the distance between us and kissing him. I swear to God sparks flew. I’d never felt anything like it.

When I finally pulled away, his face was flushed. He was still upside down. Slowly, he flipped over so that he was laying on his stomach. His curls bounced everywhere. He looked at me, a little grin on his face. Finally, he said, “I thought you were straight.”

I was giddy. I stared back into his dark brown eyes and shrugged. “I was wrong.”

He laughed. “God, am I glad to hear that.”

And then we were kissing again, barely stopping to breathe. I climbed up on the bed and continued kissing him as I pulled his shirt off. I paused as I did so and took a long look. “I’m definitely not straight,” I confirmed.

He laughed again and pulled me back in.

I’m almost to Logan now. What a time it’s been. All of college. Grad school. Careers. Logan had gotten a job with an architecture firm. I’d gone to law school. Logan was so excited when I got in. We splurged on a dinner way beyond college-student price range and stayed up the whole night watching Suits episodes we’d already seen. Logan couldn’t get enough of the fact that I shared the same name as the main lawyer in the show.

And coming out to my family, of course. They’d taken it much better than Logan’s dad had. They loved him. We’d visited them for several Christmases and Thanksgivings since.

And now, here. Our anniversary. Eleven years since we were freshmen in college. I smile. What a wild, fantastic ride.

I take the last turn onto Oakwood Avenue, tightening my grip on the lunchbox and roses. My hands are sweating a little and I can’t drop anything now. The engagement ring continues to press ever so lightly into my thigh. It’s comforting to feel it. If I couldn’t, I’d be checking every few seconds to make sure it was still there.

My throat feels dry now. It’s been a few months since I’ve seen him. It’s our big night. Sure, we’ve had our fair share of anniversaries by now, but I’m still nervous. Logan still gives me the butterflies just as he always has.

Just a few more steps. Almost there.

“Hi, Logan,” I say, sitting down. I take out the Chinese and arrange it, with the orange chicken closest to him, of course. I set the bouquet down in front of him. “Happy Anniversary.” I can’t help it; my voice cracks a little.

Unsurprisingly, his gravestone doesn’t reply.

The orange roses look nice against the light granite. LOGAN WINTER, it says. Some dates, a little carving of a cross, some more words, blocked by the roses.

“I miss you,” I say. “I’m sorry for not coming for the last few months. Been working on that Reynolds case I told you about last time. But I’d never forget our anniversary.”

I take out the engagement ring and put it on my finger. “I still wear it sometimes, you know,” I tell him. “I mean, we never broke up, so technically you’re still my fiancé.” My voice cracks again. I carry the ring with me always. Logan had proposed a few months before the accident. We had the venue booked, the invitations planned, the wedding date set.

I leave the ring on my finger as I begin to eat. The sun is setting now. When it strikes the stone just right in about twenty minutes, the color will make the roses glow. It’ll be beautiful, like Logan deserves.

“Atticus is doing well,” I say. “The Campus Drive sign still looks great. I almost brought it to you, but you put it up so perfectly above the doorframe, and it’s the perfect touch there. I can’t take it down. Besides, I think you’d rather it be on display to embarrass me whenever people come over, huh?”

The orange chicken is too spicy for me, as usual. Logan always teased me about not being able to handle food with any spice.

As the sun continues to set, tears begin to creep down my face. I sit cross-legged on the grass, watching as the sun rays illuminate the orange roses, making them a fiery auburn, stark in contrast to the pale LOGAN WINTER they lay against.

I put my fingers to the stone. “Smart and cute and mine?” I whisper. “How unfair of the world to take you away from me.”