i hate when it’s 5 o’ clock

its time to go home and hear my wife rant and rave

oh, no, she’s not a mental patience, but a lovely one

she’s so buzy with appointments, and so fussy

no time to cook turkey on thanksgiving, so she orders

expects me to arrive at home at shark 6 or she calls office

i need to shower at 6.30 pm or else we wont have sitting dinner

her business associates arrive at 7pm and we need to have champagne

desert and coffee is served at 9pm and the guests need to depart at 10pm

we need to sleep by 10.15pm and i cannot touch her because she has on

a stupid face mask, that she needs to keep till morning, i hate it when

she wakes up at 6am and goes for jogging and comes back at 6.30 sharp

i hate it when she cooks pancakes and refuses to kiss me because she has on

a Mac lipstick or else it will get ruined, i hate it when she drives away

and i sip my black coffee with one teaspoon of sugar, as per her sugesstion

i never call her at 10am and we never meet for lunch and i always see her

face on the business magazine cover and she looks so proud and confident

and i just wish that she noticed me for once that we miss our lifes together

and i hate it when she foregets my birthday and it’s like hell when my mum

calls and says, i have dont a good job and that she’s proud of our marriage

if lying to your mum about a happy marriage is not hell, than i truly dont

know what hell is all about, and i wish my mum would forever stop calling me!

this is how i hold onto you:

ankle socks, a baseball cap,

your ball state crewneck draped

over my skin so that i am a ghost

of you. i look in the mirror

and see pockets, seams

fraying, edges stitched inside-out

because i've never patched exit wounds

in my gums, i've never bound

my body without a handyman's help. 

the new cotton doesn't hold me

like you did. it stuffs my scars

but stifles sparks. i felt more comfortable

dressed in static. i miss

the electricity between us,

days spent waiting to be ironed

so we could rid ourselves of our wrinkles

and sort the good days from the bad

like bath towels from rags. i wish

we could love like we do laundry,

forgive, rinse, and repeat. i wish

the thumps of the washer were your heartbeat.

Quickly, quietly, I padded out of the house, barefoot. I hopped out of the doorway and hurried through the mist and out to the barn. My toes sunk into the moist grass as I tried my best not to slip on the morning dew. I reached the barn, avoiding the livestock as to not wake them. I found the ladder leading to the roof and climbed it in record time. I shimmied my way to the peak of the roof and when my eyes caught the first glimpse of the sea, I saw it; the Viking ship.

It was sailing straight towards our small island, wind stretching the red sails, causing them to whip. I held my breath. They were coming fast, even in the early morning storm. I watched in horror as the neck of the ship bounced on the waves. The wooden serpent rose with great power and dipped back down, causing the waves to shudder under its weight. Even from the far off distance that the ship was at, I could see the flames of torches flicking on the deck.

Then, as if the mighty gods themselves knew of the chaos that was about to take place and feared for our safety, the wind came to a sudden halt. A complete stand still. The only movement in the surrounding area was my breath, coming out in small puffs of chilled air. The ship, even with the crashing waves, wouldn’t be able to move without wind. I let out a soft sigh of relief.

I watched the ship for a few minutes, praying the wind wouldn’t return. When everything seemed well and safe, I shifted to begin sliding down the barn. I stopped, half my weight on my elbow, the rest on my knees. The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up as a chill ran down my back. The air was still quiet. Suddenly, the Viking ship started to move. I looked around in a startled panic. No trees were moving and neither were the waves. The ship ventured on as if it had its own source of wind. The sails of the ship stretched out with tension even further than when the wind was moving them. The Vikings, the rulers of the grand oceans, moved even faster towards my home.

“Finn!” My name was half shouted, half whispered. I whipped my head around to find my mother standing in the doorway of the house. She was large, taking up the frame of the door, blocking my sister from coming out into the chilly air. Get in here, she mouthed while clenching her fists.

Fearing my mother more than the Vikings, I slid down the roof and dropped onto the soft dirt with a thud. I hustled off towards the house, crouching low. I knew the Viking ship was too far to see me, but maybe they had a scope. I couldn’t be too safe.

“The ship, mother, the one the island has been fearing.” I spoke low enough for my sister not to hear and pointed east towards the sea. “It draws closer even without wind.”

Blond, bushy eyebrows climbed up mother’s forehead. Her blue eyes bore into my identical ones. “Impossible,” she murmured.

“But,” I started.

“Nonsense, you child.” Mother reached out with her large fingers and gripped my ear. Even at the age of 14, my mom still treated me like I didn’t take care of my family, which I did. I farmed, I traded, and I hunted. I supplied for the family and this woman still acted like I played in the mud. Mother pulled on my ear, causing pain to flare up. “It’s too early for these games, Finn. You woke both me and Katla.” She pushed back my sister, making her stumble into the orange cat that slept in the house during the winter and spring months.

The feline hissed and ran away while my mom pulled me into the house, slamming the poorly fitted wood door. “The Vikings, mom, they’re coming. We need to warn the rest of the island.” Mother pushed me towards the small room my sister and I slept in.

“Stop speaking your lies, boy. Just for this, you will have no breakfast. Now,” she huffed. “Both of you, off to bed.” Katla quickly turned on her heel, rushing for her bed. I walked backwards slowly, still facing mom.

“You have to listen, they’re coming mother!”

“Bed!” She threw out her thick arm, pointing in the direction Katla went. The ragged clothes that covered her arm swung loosely with the action. “If you want to eat at all before the next sunrise you’ll hustle now.”

I turned and made my way to the cow skin I slept on. My sister was curled on her bedding and was wrapped in various rags. I plopped down and waited until I heard our mom snoring near the fire in the main room. The loud echo of mother’s breathing canceled out my light footsteps across the freezing stone floor. I crouched by Katla and shook her shoulder. She stirred and peered over the make shift blankets.

Like she has for her whole life, she stared up at me with dark brown eyes and said nothing. Katla has never said a word and probably never will. I don’t know why I woke her. I didn’t want my sister to be in trouble, to be in danger, or to be worried, but I needed all the help I could get. I needed to warn the rest of the village of the coming Vikings.

“Katla,” I barely whispered loud enough for her to hear me. “I need your help.” At first I felt I needed to explain what I was talking about, but she knew. My sister had this eerie sixth sense of always knowing what was going on around her without having someone explain anything to her. It was one of the few things the gods had blessed her with considering they forgot her voice.

Katla blinked slowly once, answering my plea for help. I swooped down and lifted her up by her shoulders. Many people wouldn’t guess it, but Katla was my twin. My hair was so blond it was almost white, while my sister had hair so black it was hard to find her in the dark. She had eyes that were identical to our fathers, a dark brown that would change to black when one of them grew angry. My mother and I shared pale blue eyes that caught attention from anyone who looked into them.

I had to duck my chin in order to look at her when she stood so close to me. I may be a male and may work all hours of the day, but the height difference between me and my twin was astonishing. Watching her tie her hair up with a leather strap reminded me to do the same. After pulling back my blond locks I found some fur and more leather straps in the corner of the room. I tossed the smaller tuffs and straps to Katla and we made makeshift shoes for ourselves.

Katla started pulling the rags off her bed and began wrapping herself in them. I knew it was cold outside and her small frame didn’t do her much justice in the body heat department.

Hurry¸ I mouthed, but she was already in front of the doorway before I finished the word. Katla threw up her hood and tip toed out of the room. I followed close behind, stepping over the cat when we passed the fire. Our mother was still snoring, drowning out the meowing the cat started to do when my sister pulled the door open. I kicked the cat out the doorway and quickly jammed the door into its frame.

Before hurrying to the barn, I took a look at my twin. She was holding the cat while glaring at me. “Sindri will be fine,” I grumbled. I watched as Katla stashed the cat away in the fold of her rags and then quickly followed me.

I didn’t have to climb the barn this time. The Vikings were close enough to be seen from where I stood. Carvings on the wood of the ship were crisp with detail even in the dark. The ship wasn’t coming straight for the island, but rather circling it, looking for the port. The farm we lived on was opposite of the port and was perched near the edge of a cliff. The Vikings wouldn’t have a way to invade us from here unless they planned on climbing up the slope.

I felt Katla pull on my sleeve. I looked down at her wide doll eyes and cursed under my breath. “You’re right, we need to hurry.” We made our way inside the barn, me heading to the back and my sister heading straight of the horses. “Hold on, we need something,” I said when I felt Katla’s eyes boring into my back.

Shifting around the hay, I began stomping on the wooden boards. A horse made a huff behind me and I knew my twin made it do it. “I’m hurrying, dammit,” I growled as my foot broke a floor board. “Found it,” I breathed. I reached down and gave the wood a hard pull, snapping off the rest of it. The horse started making louder noises. My creepy, mute sister tended to communicate through animals. This was the blessing she received from the gods. It was also a trait she was given from our father. He, being deaf, resulted in the same blessing. He liked to call the communication “mind melding,” meaning he could connect with animals and talk and listen through them.

Of the many talents my sister was blessed with, why couldn’t it be finding gold or something?

Grabbing what I needed, I kicked the broken board back into place along with some hay and stomped off to my sister. She was preparing my horse, obviously anxious for our task. “Here.” I dropped a dagger into Katla’s tiny hands. She looked up at me from under her long eye lashes, questioning the need for the weapon. “You never know, sister. We need to be safe.” She gave me the ‘yeah-right-a-dagger-is-going-to-stop-the-Vikings’ look. I held up the sheathed sword that was in my other hand. Katla gasped. It was the last item that belonged to our father that mother didn’t sell for gold or alcohol. I hid it from her and because of that, Katla always assumed it was sold. “I hid it with other weapons.” I pointed toward two sets of bows and arrows that were hanging on the wall. “I pulled those out the other day when the Vikings were spotted.”

A man that came into port about a week ago warned the island of a fast approaching Viking ship, but no one had seen it since. I wasn’t taking any chances and began to prepare for the worst. I hid food and dug up weapons, placing them across our property. Every night I snuck out of the house multiple times and checked the sea for any signs of the ship. Tonight was the night that all my hard work paid off.

You got me inside out

And I can't hardly breathe

Cause your sight takes me away

To another place that I would rather be than without you

But to you I'm

Just another girl passing by where you work just to see you

You got me going the long way just to see you

I watch your face as you work

Your smile seems fake, your lips turn just so

But when you see me, can it be

That you're waiting just for me?

It can't be... it shouldn't be...

You grab my waist and pull me in

We've met a few times before

Chance encounters on the road

But each time it's time to go

We actually never said a word

But one day I'll tell you that

You got me inside out

Can't wait to see you cause your smile takes me away to a whole other place that I refuse to leave anymore

And I refuse to

Be the random girl passing by where you work just to see you

Just let me know if you feel the way

If you feel the way that I do

Once upon a field of snow:

White intoxication lit her face

     lanterns leaving patterns

     in the harboring snow

     sorrowful piles of gloom

Alabaster white hands

     blend in incandescent glow

     as booted feet sink

     into powdery quick sand

Lemon yellow winter sun

     echoed on sallow skin

     airborne snowflakes

     of butterfly flutters

Knotted and pleated mounds

     oyster gray clouds

     whipped snow

     in froth of dreams

Sparse windblown tree soldiers

     march to refuge

     snowdrifts plodding

     single file down hills

Howls of sleeting whiteness

     form blankets

     shrouding white hot pain

     veiled gauzy curtains

Fields of crystal diamonds

     adorn her throat

     wind breathing its last

     on vanilla breast hills.

crescent moon 

dimmed lit light 

awashed with the childish fear 

of the monsters of the night 

to awaken and thrash 

and fortified the rash 

of abuse 

black and blue 

a warning 

melted 

by two fist 

slapped 

across the skin 

larking 

howls 

streacthed 

and 

curse 

canine 

teeth 

tearing 

through 

silk

sheets 

frozen 

fracture 

bones 

atrohy 

in 

the 

sweat 

of 

uninviting 

thoughts 

a bloody 

dagger 

brooding 

dark 

thoughts 

of 

murder 

silken 

sheets 

wrapped 

around 

the necks 

of 

fools 

faced paced dreams 

and comforting 

nightmares 

these are the panic attacks of the withering 

night 

Her hair

hung yellow

stung

by honey bees

Lips swollen

Forgotten stamped

in red

on her forehead

Black bike

heavyweight

with her

two pound pup

She stood beautiful

flaunting her

young death

I envy her

homeless

high

careless

Nectar pouring from

her purple eye

Her hands

powder blue

Prosecutor: Could you take a trip down your memory lane,

When they said you sounded a bit sane?

Tell the jury what happened then,

When you were below the age “Ten!”

Accused: I was toddler with a sweet smile,

I started my journey walking only a quarter mile,

They were not amused with that game,

So one day they gave me a plastic gun and asked me to aim,

Who gave me that I don’t remember the name,

But we both sounded pretty so much the same….

And why did they do so heyy! I hit my first target and cheered “yay”

Judge: And why did you do that?

Accused: Cuz’ I am a killer” o yay ye yay

I am a killer

Prosecutor: I am worried what happened further?

whom did you first murder....

Accused: They said he is good at it,

Let’s hand him a shit with better hit!!!

I shot the lizard sneaking in my toys,

They said that’s gonna make him stand tall among the boys..

They din’t know there were more bodies under the bed,

Happy with the job they fixed me a snack with a cheese spread,

Judge: And why did they do that?

Accused: cuz’ I am a Killer,

Ooo yay ye yay I am a killer!!

Prosecutor: Tell everybody what had you thought,

when you lost your marbles and did a human-head-shot !!

Accused: I grew old and was sent to a school,

Perhaps they wanted me to use a better tool!

I saw a girl who was a real beauty,

to love her then was my only duty!

One day she questioned “What more can you do for me”??

Fondling my asset under the tree!

I took out my gun and shot her in the head,

waited for her to say “let’s make out in the bed!”

She was unfaithful cuz’ she din’t move,

It was my love which she din’t approve,

Though I gave her the bullet that I loved the most,

She was a cheat and gave up the ghost...

Judge: And why did you do that?

Accused: ’cuz I am a killer ooo yay ye yay

I am a killer.....

Prosecutor: You see sir we have in hand a total cuckoo case,

Now we hold a very strong base,

and it’s the time to put him in his right place

I request the jury, to shut him behind the Madhouse door

Because we can’t stand this gore nooo more!!

Crowd: Nooo more... Nooo more...

Jury discussed and came up with a strict decision,

as they always had a far sighted vision,

they said he is “guilty as accused”,

insanity is smokescreen which he has used,

He loves the “thrill of the kill”,

and It’s time for his sins to pay up the bill!!

Accused felt a bit twitchy

and said “Heyy my micky feels a bit itchy”,

In his pants he slipped his hands

and flicked out a gun as he had different plans

at Judge he immmediatey aimed

scared Judge bluffed “you might have been framed”,

As the Judge was no sitting duck,

he ran through the courtroom saying “ooo what the fuck”...

“Bang” said the gun as he outran his luck

judge fell down, in the courtroom of that town

killer laughed hard like a clown

Crowd: why did u do that?

Killer: ’cuz I am a killer ..Ooo yay ye yay

I am a killer.

He heard it the moment both his feet landed on the tile floor, the music that drifted through the darkness. Aaron crouched there, letting his eyes adjust and watching the dust swirl through the threads of light that poured their way through rents in thick concrete and brick walls wrought by time’s neglect. He had found an opening in the building through a window outside covered by thin plywood that gave with little effort. There were dozens of hard plastic tables layered with soot, their colors alternating between faded shades of the primary colors and lined up in symmetrical aisles that centered themselves in front of a wide stage set two feet off the ground. This was the school’s cafeteria. He caught the name of the piece that was playing-- Debussy, and horribly out of tune. The felt hammers of the piano fell upon the steel strings in a lazy, uneven, way, ringing along the walls and through the halls of the old Oleander Elementary. The new school had been built five miles south to replace this one years ago after a fire devoured an entire wing of the building, reducing the U shape to an L. Aaron tried not to concern himself with the number of school children and staff. Numbers meant a great deal to the living but not to the dead, and the dead is who he had his business with.

He reached into the cargo net of his backpack and pulled out a flashlight, moving it in slow arcs throughout the room. Aaron knew he was seen already, he could always feel them stare. Not here, he thought, and then began to walk down the center aisle toward the stage. The fire had taken place between breakfast and lunch, there was to be an assembly that day, wood props of trees and homes were set, the crimson colored curtains drawn back. The dust patterns on the stage told him that the curtains had just been pulled. The piano continued to play, verse by verse in that clumsy way; here, Aaron knew, something strong would be laid to rest today. No echoes. Any sound Aaron made was suffocated the moment it escaped by a weight pressing against him in the school, a gravity.

“I’m here to help.” His voice was calm, but still audible. Aaron tried again, “I’m here to help.” This time, only ‘I’m’ and ‘to’ were heard.

I want to help, he said. This time it worked. The curtains and rod fell and landed with a sharp crack that was smothered at once.

Show me where, Aaron said, his voice stolen before it could know the air.

Show me. The school bell began to ring, muted, but still audible.

Thank you, I’ll be quick. Aaron followed the bell out of the cafeteria and into the hall. He crossed the entire length of the first floor, pushing open doors that had been shut for decades and running the tips of his fingers across the rusted desks. Climbing up the steps to the second floor the bell became louder. He took the ascent with care, over the years he had seen much and his recklessness was often punished. Aaron had to be more careful, he was a father now, and over-confidence was no longer on the table. Reaching the top step, the bell became clear. If you were to stand outside, you would never know it was happening. Every step Aaron took was like lens finding focus in the distance. He walked down the second floor hall toward the severed end of the school. A patchwork of tarps had been placed over the exposed roof eaten by flame with the intention of preserving whatever it was inside for history. No one could agree that museum and memorial may as well mean the same thing. 

A storm had blown in the previous night and unbound half the clasps that held the tarp to the roof, leaving the furthest end of the hall exposed to the open air. The bell stopped ringing once Aaron was beneath the rotten and scared roof, but the piano was as loud as ever. No use for the flashlight now, its bulb now a dim flicker.

I want to help, Aaron repeated, each word spilling to another time. There was an anger here and he knew he wouldn’t be breathing soon. No matter how many times he did this, in all the years, he was intoxicated by the cocktail of panic, adrenaline, and excitement that blooms just before let it seize him. The sky was bare but the light seemed to spiral, casting shadows that swirled around him. Colors dulled not by dust or time but by unseen gears that turn silent clocks. It’s a strong one, Aaron thought, and it’s about to get a whole lot stronger. He could hear in the empty rooms the sound of tables sliding across the wooden floor and calm voices that urged everyone to line up in a by the door. The small hammers of the school bell swelled to a fever pitch.

Aaron stood at the building's jagged edge, looking out into the field where what remained of the school rested like charred bones of a great beast. Aaron could no longer breathe. His hands remained still beside his sides while he blinked hard into the open air. The music ceased and with it, Aaron’s heart. He fell forward, one arm spilling over the edge, while his eyes adjusted. The crisp mountain air that rushed in his open mouth soon tasted of smoke and ash. His eyes refocused and saw the heavy billows of smoke traveling through the corridor. He stayed low and began to crawl across the floor, his limbs too weak to do any more. Children hurried passed him with staff members as shepherds. Many of them met his gaze, some even stopped long enough to look upon him with wide curious eyes before being shoved from behind to keep moving. His legs felt stronger. Aaron crawled to the edge of the hallway and used the wall to help him stand. Closer, just a little closer. Fire crawled along the ceiling in small rolling waves and Aaron knew that his time was short.

Where are you? He asked, before turning around and walking back. The only door he found closed was marked 212. Here. The knob was hot to the touch. He pulled one of his sleeves over his hand and quickly gave it a twist. Inside he saw a ring of children, twelve in number and none over the age of seven, gathered in the center of the room with joined hands. At the middle of the circle was a woman slumped on the floor. As Aaron walked into the classroom every pair of round eyes turned look to him.

--You don’t belong here the door is too hot to open we don’t know what happened to her you don’t belong here neither does he it hurts to breathe why did they leave us you don’t belong here help us help us help us is she hurt help you don’t belong here—

It will be over soon, Aaron said. He could feel a heavy breath wash over him as the flame began to eat through the walls and ceiling. The children broke their circle and spread a little wider so that Aaron could join them. He sat crossing his legs before holding up his hands to join them, his large palms engulfing their tiny fists like stones. From here Aaron recognized the woman and saw her leg and hands twitching. Looking at them he said-- Stay with me. Each of you will see a stream and when you do, step into its water. There, you will find your release. Keep your eyes on me. Don’t let go. There they waited while the fire spread across the walls and then, in a violent burst, the air was sucked out of their small mouths and fed the flame that swirled around the room setting all to cinder. They could not scream, but they felt the searing. Neither of them let the other go and the world would never know their courage.

I’m so sorry. Aaron felt the grip on his hands tighten; tiny finger nails digging deep into his flesh, while the fire swept them up off the ground for a moment. This would be what he would remember the most: suspended in the air with joined hands, all eyes on him searching for the river he promised as the fire blackened them to ash. What fell back onto the floor was him and nothing else. Aaron blinked hard again and saw himself rolling on the ground, again on the edge of the severed school. The colors looked a little brighter and the light from beyond the building’s ruin poured over his cold body. 

His heart returned to life with sharp raps against the bone of his chest, stumbling before catching rhythm. He couldn’t keep his hands from shaking. Aaron swatted at his body while rolling around the floor, half-believing he was still on fire. Looking at his palms he could see the small crescent shaped marks of fingernails that did indeed draw blood.

From the edge of the building he spotted his station wagon and the toddler’s car seat strapped into the back. Aaron leaned forward, pressing his head against the cold floor and began to weep. He saw himself in the air, looking into their eyes and wide mouths.

He felt himself being pulled down the hall, away from the building's edge, slow at first and then lifting from the floor altogether. Arrested by grief and disbelief while spinning backwards at a speed gaining in momentum. This isn’t supposed to be happening, Aaron said to himself while sailing across the darkening hall. He spun his floating body around and saw the wall at the hall’s end fast approaching. Closing his eyes he put both hands forward and tried to press against the gravity pulling him. The tiles on the wall fell around him while landing with a thump. Aaron rolled onto his stomach, trying to pick himself up before he was pulled into the air again and hurled down the hall toward the opposite end where there was nothing to stop him.

“Shit.”

The hall grew darker the closer he came to the exposed end of the building. The heavy breath he felt wash over him in the class room now made a sublime kind of sense. Five feet from being flung out into the open air to his death his feet began to drag along the floor. He dug the rubber bottom of his heels and leaned back. Three feet away he slowed further and just before spilling over the edge he stopped, falling backward with his sweat-drenched clothes sticking to his skin. The world around him went black in the way a room appears as you fall into sleep. The building groaned and buckled, as if it would collapse upon itself, then nothing more.

He stood up, his muscles and limbs in knots. He found his backpack halfway down the stairs-- its contents exposed-- which he gathered together while trying to slow his heart down. He fell out of the window he came in, covering his arms and jeans in mud, then carried himself across the tall grass to his car waiting in the old parking lot.

After fishing around his pockets for the car keys he remembered that he had kept them in the bag. Reaching into the backseat he felt the car rock side to side though none of the trees around him swayed. He plucked his keys out of the small zippered pocket at the top of the bag and started the car. The engine stuttered and a white smoke crept out from beneath the hood. Switching the radio off, Aaron drove in silence through the winding country roads that led back to the highway.