I am nothing more than a drifter, never around often or longer enough to be known. It’s not that I haven’t tried. Like a moth I am drawn to the bright places that spark my interest, and then, just like the moth, once I reach my destination the spark dies. I want to stay, to grow, to become a part of that light that first called to me, but without that spark it becomes too difficult to stay around those who shine. I let the wind carry me away so I may rekindle my flame away from the effervescent glow of others. Soon I will have strength to visit again and the cycle will start anew.

“Til death do us part” they promised. A promise made among immortals, to whom a promise was an unbreakable vow, lest they lose their immortality. A promise that had thus far been faithful and dutifully carried out. Now a divide has come between the two and neither wishes to try and bridge the gap. They unite now only in trying to figure out how to forever be rid of the other.

They had learned some lessons from others. One was violence against the other was not enough to end either the promise or the intended target. Guns had been fired, drinks poisoned, brake lines tampered with. For one immortal couple this had actually rekindled their love, but they were the exceptions.

Another lesson learned was they could not just be separated from each other. If they did then over the course of their never-ending existence, they could never be with anyone else, or that would be cheating, and seen as breaking their marriage vow. This would result in lost immortality for the cheater, something neither one of them wanted to part with. Many attempts to convince other people to seduce their partners were made though. Several immortal couples had ended this way.

The most successful way to get out of the marriage promise though was to make more promises, unreasonable promises that were nearly impossible to keep. When a couple was in love they did their best to avoid asking their partners these kinds of promises or else an accidental break could end everything. Now that they wanted to end everything these requests became an everyday occurrence. “Do you promise to never…” or “Promise to always…” became part of common conversation. To have the other agree to something, but not yourself was the real issue. Many immortals had managed to convince their partners into impossible promises only for themselves to be equal bound, resulting in both losing their immortality.

And so, everyday the two wordsmiths fought back and forth, trying to get the other one to slip. Occasionally a knife would be thrown or boa constrictor left in the bed out of frustration, but it always came back to wordplay. The smarts and wit of why they fell in love had become the bane of why they were unable to separate. They are the longest lasting marriage of the immortals and it does not look like it will be ending any time soon.

The sun had just set on the last day of fall. Tomorrow was the winter solstice and what was normally a time for holiday cheer instead this year had a city filled with fear. Three seasons had passed, and each had started with a deadly murder.

The spring equinox found the city waking up to a female college coed laying in West Park. A wide stab wound had pierced her chest as in her hands she held a handful of fresh bluebells. The police had looked and searched but there was no evidence, no rhyme or reason as to why she had to die. As the days warmed up the trail went cold. It seemed as though this case would go unsolved and then, as the dog days of summer began, a new corpse appeared.

On the south beach just before noon a male in his thirties was seen sunbathing. Upon closer inspection a wide stab wound was once again found in his chest. At his side lay half a dozen sunflowers. With motive the same the police quickly connect this death to the previous. However even with this connection they were able to proceed no further. Not one thing linked the two together. Still for months the police followed every little lead they could find.

A new lead did unfortunately appear in the afternoon of the autumnal equinox. Amongst the everchanging trees of East Park eternally slept a mid-aged woman, a wide stab wound emanating from her chest. Two pots of chrysanthemums adorned her either side. While the crime was similar to the others no other connection could be found. Once again months passed, and fall was coming to a close. The entire city was feeling the stress of what tomorrow would surely bring. The pot was boiling over.

As the sun rose on that cold fateful day the tension in the air was palpable. People still had to live their lives though. The streets were filled as they rushed from here to there, last minute shopping or friends and family to visit. There was never anyone by themselves though. Regardless of how simple an errand might seem there were always two people doing it. And so, this is how the day passed, rushed and tense. Soon it was time for the sun to set and people began to relax. An old woman had thus decided to make a visit to North Graveyard on her own.

She had been a widow for five years to the day and every year she would come to pay her late husband a visit. A light snow had begun to fall when she arrived. As she made her way through the graves, she saw someone she knew. It was the florist. He had lost his wife just last year. Knowing herself how hard that first year can be she walked over to see if he wanted any company. He was kneeling over his wife’s grave, mumbling to himself, when she approached.

“Excuse me,” she said.

He looked up at her with dark circles under his eyes. “I was afraid they wouldn’t make it in time,” he said.

“What?” she asked.

“These,” he said as he moved out of the way. The grave was covered in budding crocuses.

“They’re beautiful,” said the woman.

“They were my wife’s favorites,” the man replied. “She loved the changing of the seasons. ‘A time for everything’ she would say. ‘A time to live…’” At this point he was standing up. A pair of pruning shears could be seen in his hand. “…and a time to die.” He raised the shears up high.

“WAIT!” cried the woman, but before she could do anything the man pointed the shears at himself and stabbed himself in the chest. He crumpled to the ground with a wide stab wound and surrounded by flowers.

Hunger has once again come back.

So, to the kitchen I take my walk.

Halfway there comes the attack.

On the table end my foot does balk.

With each new step intensifying pain.

From my journey I must take a rest.

To the nearest couch I fall and wane.

But I know I will pass this test.

The ache from memory will fade.

And the sustenance shall be made.

One is all I need. More is hard to do. Much is said in less.

I hate you. I love you. I need you. Be mine.

The past and the near soon grow to more, but now is few.

They hug and kiss as two are one.

To break the whole is sad to see.

Soon they part but will join once more.

Fate thus spoke: “Sole will win all.”

As the bell tolls, two are one now and for all time.

Oh, Phillip Head Screw

How I wish more were like you

Unlike the slotted that slips

In your groves the bit clips

Less than torx, more than tri-wing

Your treading is a perfect thing

You are not square

So others should beware

When I have something to secure

I will go to you who is pure

Drip Drip Drip Drop Drop

Here comes the fall of light rain

Singing simple songs

Rain falls on the top

Snakes its way to the bottom

Following a path

Deep down water flows

Through the dirt towards the roots

Quenching all the way

Drinking the sky’s grace

From tiny seed to tall tree

The rain has grown all

There is an old man in the park who seems to know everything. He’ll answer any one question you have but there is a catch: he will only talk to you over a game of chess. Only once the game starts can you ask your question. He will only speak when it is his turn, and if he thinks you are intentionally delaying your move, he will end the game there. Finally, once you have played him once he will never talk to you again.

I had a question I needed the answer to. Having looked everywhere else I could think of, I came to this old man. I found him sitting under a maple tree with a small table with two seats opposite each other. On the table was a simple black and white chess game all set up and ready to play. As I approached him, he gestured to the open seat across from him.

“Black or White?” he asked as I sat. His voice was deep and rough, but not unpleasant.

“White” I replied. He turned the board so the white pieces were closer to me and gestured at me to start the game. I did.

1: f3

He quickly replies with a move of his own.

1: … e5

It is my turn again and I know I must move soon to not draw his ire. I make my move and start to speak.

2: g4

“So…” I start.

Before I can get out another word he makes his move and declares “Checkmate.”

2: … Qh4#

I look down at the board in disbelief. It is indeed a checkmate and I have lost. I look up hoping to convince him to let me try again, but the old man is gone. I missed my chance to ask my question. I stay seated under that maple tree and weep.

The SUV is travelling down a path it has gone many a times. The driver had just got groceries and knew this route would get them home in about 10 minutes. The vehicle comes to a stop at a stoplight. It will be the first one to go when the light changes, but it will proceed cautiously. While this light does not have a left hand turn signal, and this vehicle will be going straight anyways, cars from the opposite direction have a bad habit of turning right in front of them as soon as the light changes. And so, caution will be used. The light changes and the vehicle start to creep forward.

All of a sudden a loud horn blares from the left. The driver has no time to look to see what it is but instinctively puts their foot on the brake. CRASH. The vehicle is hit and does a 180. It coasts slowly towards a tree on the side of the road. The driver hits the brake to stop but there is no response. They pull the emergency brake, and the vehicle mercifully halts.

Thanks to the air bags and seat belt all the driver ends up suffering is a soar neck. They stumble out of the car and are told immediately by a spectator to take a seat while they call the police. Reluctantly the driver does. From the ground they can see the other car a good 50 yards down the road, proceed by a trail of random car bits. They see no sign of the other driver. They get up and make a call to let their loved one know they are okay and may need a ride. There is now a chance to see the damage done to their ow vehicle. The frame in front of the driver’s side wheel is smashed in, but other than this the vehicle is fine condition.

By now the police have arrived on the scene. They talk to the witness and then to the driver. They ask what happened and gather their facts. It is quickly determined that the other driver ran a red light. The police ask the driver if they want to go to the hospital, but the driver refuses. Their loved one had arrived and there was ice cream melting in the trunk. More than anything they just want to home.

Diamond Ball worked at the DMV in the area known as the dugout. Every day she would field the same lineup of complaints for customers who battered her with questions. They would pitch a mound of manure served on a silver plate to her in hopes to catch her making an error and thereby score some points on the man. She would windup striking them down so hard they would balk and slump away. It was a good job.