See my life elapse

Across freshly polished ice

Skating my routine

A mirrored surface

Reflects my every move

My personal coach

But, what if the ice

Reflects in both directions

Granting both vision?

Will I see myself

Seeing myself seeing me?

Would I be so proud?

Or, will I witness

Myself as I shan't ever

Desire to see?

With skates on an edge

Holding a perfect layback

Hardly an instant

Before I see her

Struggling to become me

And not what she is

Can I assist her?

How can I reach through the ice?

Is there enough time?

How flawed my idea

For as I skate, the mirror

Can’t even reflect

It is now opaque

And I will never meet her

Words she will speak too

I have been accused of ruining lives.

Maybe that is true.

I will only accept credit if and only if I have tangible evidence of a said life ruined.

Otherwise, I only take credit for accelerating the process toward the inevitable.

For, I am neither a frondeur nor malcontent.

Contrary to popular belief, I hold no grudges.

I rule by fiat, unfettered by conscience.

As regular as clockwork, I make my rounds unencumbered by the discourse of the uneducated.

I may be a pariah in my time and for all time, but I hold my principles dear, and thus,

I am consistent to a fault.

When I kill, it is not for sport, but possibly for entertainment.

When I feed, it is not for pleasure, but always for the added benefit of taste.

When I watch the wretched souls I cast aside,

I find ultimate satisfaction in treading upon these growing heaps of pedestrian pavement.

In this singularity of my nature, I find truth and purpose in being.

I am what I am.

So know me as such.

I will not trifle with recognizable monikers.

A rose by any other name would smell as sweet

A line in which I have never received proper recognition.

A putrid mass as foul and all is relative.

In conclusion, disregard your clinical analysis of my story.

Your emotional response reaps more than your foray into logic and reasoning ever did or would.

I may not have created the Universe, but the Universe had to create me.

A restart of the former garners no advantage over the restart of the latter.

I grow stronger with each colloquial "do-over".

Sleep soundly knowing this.

Present your inquiries tonight.

We will discuss your future tomorrow, in every detail possible.

From the pitch back music room

Came the sound of dissonant chords

Peeking my head inside the door

The piano music abruptly ended

Two feline eyes dared me to object

I don’t know if

I’ll hear from you again

But perhaps if you ever

Get to that step

I will come to mind

Then maybe we’ll meet

On number nine

The perfect new Olympic endurance sport would incorporate a track that is approximately 1 meter wide by 100 meters long covered in Legos of various size and shapes. The competitors would then walk barefoot on the Lego covered track. The competitor who makes it the farthest wins. It would definitely be more interesting than the winter Olympic sport, curling.

Can time not go back?

I wish it could.

For I sure would go to that place

just to see your face.

I once was a fool

and lost the best chance

and it has come back to haunt me

Time and age has come with tears and pain

I think what if and

where are you

I hope you are well and hope you have had the best in life.

I am here, where are you?

I've got nothing

in the wicker...

floating faster

falling swifter...

The rattan itself

is worn away

and whatever

might have

carried thru

among the reeds

has disappeared

in our fray...

What did I say?

calls the fisherman

on the raft right

round the bend

Nothing, nothin'

in water it is

written...

my friends

averting

misty eyes &

crashing back

into our waves

2023 APR 06

As soon as the door opens, I bolt into the closet to avoid being seen. I do this every time Lilian comes home, but today it’s even more important. She’s mad. I can’t tell who she’s yelling at yet, but I can hear crying.

“Would you stop?! You know who I am!”

“No, I don’t!” she says, crying even harder. I can see her now; she's a little girl, and she looks to be six or seven.

“I am your mother! Stop playing around Ashlynn, or you’ll be going to bed early tonight.” I could tell how exasperated she was, but Lilian doesn’t have a daughter. She’s thirty-two, and has never been married, or been in a relationship long enough to have a child.

The little girl quiets gradually, and when she finally forces herself to stop crying, she says, “My name is not Ashlynn, it’s Eva, and I think you mixed me up with your own child. My mommy’s name is Helen, and my daddy’s name is Robert. I live on-” but Lilian cuts her off.

“Your name is Ashlynn, I am your mother, and your father died two months ago!” She screams the last bit, and Eva starts crying again.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. It’s probably the landlord, coming for the monthly check. Lilian goes wide-eyed, but walks toward the door. “Go sit in the living room, Ashlynn.”

She smooths her dress and opens the door. “Hello, sir. Can I help you?”

When he comes in, I see that it’s a police officer. “Ma’am, we got a call a few minutes ago, saying that one of your neighbors saw something moving in here, and you weren’t home yet.

Would you mind if I take a look around real quick?” But he’s already walking in before she can nod her answer.

Doesn’t he realize that there’s something wrong with Lilian? She’s a wreck, and it’s only going to get worse.

I’m the one who was seen in here earlier. I sometimes come in here and try on my old clothes that Lilian never got rid of. It makes me feel real, since I died two months ago. I’ve been watching over her, making sure she’s alright. Lilian and I were together for two years.

Before I died, she told me that I was the only man she ever loved. There is definitely something going on with her, though. She didn’t used to be like this.

I always loved taking Lilian places, and spending time with her. She was a little uncertain of our relationship at first; she wasn’t very open with her feelings. But after a while, everything seemed so natural.

But Lilian never wanted a child. She specifically told me that when I would bring it up, hoping she’d change her mind. I don’t know where she found that little girl, but she seems to actually think her name is Ashlynn, and that I’m her father.

After looking all through the house, he goes into the living room, and sees Eva. She looks scared, so he sits down cautiously. “Hello," he says, "And who might you be?”

She just stares, and doesn’t say anything, probably thinking that Lilian was going to freak out again if she says Eva.

“It’s alright. You can tell me. What’s wrong?” Nothing. “Can you tell me your name?” Still no answer.

He takes out his spiral pad and a pen and hands it to her. She takes it, but doesn’t write anything down.

Lilian comes in, carrying coffee. “What’s going on?” she says suspiciously, looking back and forth between the two.

“Is this your daughter?” he asks, looking at Eva the whole time.

Lilian is silent for a moment. “Yes, of course, she’s my daughter. Why else would she be in my house, on my couch?” she asks him defensively.

“Ma’am, she looks terrified, and there is nothing in this house that suggests a child lives here. I’m going to have to ask you to go stand in the foyer for a few minutes while I talk to the girl.” He turns to Eva as Lilian walks away.

“Now, I want you to tell me your name, so we can get you back to your real parents. Can you tell me?”

She stays quiet for a moment, and then recites what she tried telling Lilian earlier. “My name is Eva. My mom’s name is Helen, and my dad’s name is Robert. We live in a neighborhood called White Springs, and I was at the playground when she-” She looks up at Lilian, who is now crying. “She came over to me and picked me up, calling me her baby, like I was her daughter. I don’t know her though, please help me.” She talks so quickly he has to scribble to keep up.

“Okay, Eva. Do you know your parents’ phone number? Or your address?” She shakes her head no.

“I’m sorry.” She pauses. “I'm still going home, right?” She actually looks scared that he’ll say no.

“Of course you will. I’ll be right back.” he tells her, and walks into the foyer to talk to Lilian. “Can we go outside and talk?” he asks her, eyeing the door.

“Sure.” She looks upset, like it’s actually her daughter who is about to be taken from her.

~

Before I died, Lilian was put in a mental hospital to care for her, and to fix her. They said that she was experiencing a break from reality, caused by the loss of a loved one. They don’t know about me; no one does, but they know that her dad died earlier this year.

She broke down at least once a day, being trapped in a small room alone, aside from her once a day therapy session. Lilian is considered one of the dangerous ones in this place.

I visit her everyday, and most days, I stay all day. She started talking to herself more and more frequently, which the doctors found concerning, but she was trying to talk herself through everything that had happened.

And then- well, then, she started talking to me, too. She told me she was sorry, that she loved me so much, that she wanted to see me- just one more time, if that’s all she could.

She just wanted a chance to apologize, to make it up to me for what she did. I never spoke back, but I listened, whenever she needed it.

~

About two months ago, Lilian was still grieving her dad’s death, and I came over to her house to comfort her. She seemed to be telling herself that he was coming back, that he just went to the store, and took a detour, that he got lost, that he was getting directions, on and on until I tried to tell her that he was gone for good.

Lilian had been my everything, so I wanted to help her feel better, to move one, even if she still missed him. But she shut down, stopped talking to me. And I know I shouldn’t have, but I left. She kept telling me I couldn’t help her, and that I was worthless, that if she had been with her dad more instead of me, he would still be here.

I had given up on talking to her for the week, but then I saw her walking in the park. Out of impulse, I went up to her, asked if we could talk. She tried to walk away, but I followed. She ignored me all the way back to her house, even when I tried telling her that I loved her, that I would always be there for her, that she could tell me anything she needed to get out of her system. But she slammed the door on me,

I could tell she wasn’t okay, and I still had a key to her house, so I went in. She was in the kitchen, starting to make dinner. “Sit down.” she said. I looked at her questioningly. She looked straight through me. “What are you waiting for?! I said sit!”

So I sat. She rushed around the kitchen, banging pots and pans and gathering ingredients that made no sense together. I stood up.

“Lilian, are you alright?”

“I told you to sit down!” She was screaming at this point.

“Lilian, listen to me, Please, just talk to-”

“No! I said sit down! Stop telling me that everything is fine and that it’s going to be okay, and that everything I’m feeling is normal! I lost my only living parent, the only person who ever cared about me! I! Am! Alone! But you wouldn’t get it, because everyone cares about you! Just get out of my life!”

“Lilian, you need help. You can’t live like this. I’ll go if that’s what you want, but then you would be really alone. I love you, Lilian. I always will, and I’m so glad I have you. I don’t want to lose you. I need you.” I’m crying but she doesn’t seem to care.

She pauses, silent, except for the sound of her breath hitching as she cries. “I love you too, Jack.”

I move toward her, and wrap my arms around her. We stay there like that for a while, just hugging her, crying, while I tell her how much I love her.

I whisper, “He may be gone, but you can still talk to him whenever you want to.” Her eyes go wide, and she gets mad again, shoving me away.

“He’s not gone! He’s coming back! He would never leave me!” She’s back to screaming, “I know he’s not gone. You’re both just pranking me. He’s on vacation somewhere. That’s where he’s been! That’s why he’s been gone! Don’t lie to me!”

She picks up the cutting board off the floor, washes it, and starts haphazardly chopping onions and other vegetables.

“Be careful, you’ll hurt yourself. Do you want me to do it instead?” I ask, hoping she’ll put the knife down before she cuts herself. I walk toward her slowly. “Honey, come relax for a few minutes. I grab her arm gently, trying to ease her out of whatever came over her, like I did before. “Lilian. Lilian, I need you to talk to me.” With my other hand, I gently take her wrist, the hand she’s holding the knife with.

She seems to cooperate, but then her eyes go wide, and she realizes what I’m doing.

“Lilian, please, just calm down.” I tighten my grip just in case, but she’s faster than me. She slips out of my hold, and walks around to the other side of the island countertop.

“Lilian! Please, Lilian! We can work through this. You will be alright. I’ll get you someone to talk to. We can even go together if you want. I love-”

But she charged at me, and everything went black as my head hit the counter and I fell to the ground.

When I woke up, I could float, and go through walls, and no one could see me. I don’t blame her for what she did. She was hurt- and something was going on. She couldn’t help it. She wasn’t herself. I don’t think she ever will be again.

I watch her now, and she doesn’t seem happy, but she seems at peace. And I’m happy for her. She’ll make it. Even if I didn’t.