i built a grave

out of bedsheets

and buried you between-

tucking you in tight enough

to suffocate your childish giggles

desperately,

i placed your purple bike

in the basement

so like me,

it could collect dust

in solitude

i carried your old hobbies

to the fireplace

and watched them burn-

and i didn't speak

to your parents

about what i'd done

-time changes a person-

there is still a part of you

in my soul

but i know what is dead

cannot be revived

now i can't find the pieces of you

that i need

i do not feel alive

When Ms. Schneider received her first eviction notice she chose not to ignore it. Her rebellious streak was far stronger than that. Instead, she walked outside, stuck that little pink slip on a pole, and lit it on fire. It was such a tiny display and left just a bit of ash, but it caused a stir. In a town with a population of three hundred everything caused a stir.

Nobody wanted to evict Ms. Schneider. She was something of a local icon. Everyone was fairly sure she'd been around longer than Bradenburry was, even though Bradenburry was two hundred years old. There were always stories about the old woman, only made more infamous by her constant finger-wagging every time someone passed over her yard. Nobody knew why she wanted everyone off her grass. It was just as shriveled and brown as she was.

Her house was falling apart. Coming undone at the seams really. The moulding had taken on an unintended meaning in its name. Half of the building was sagging steadily into the earth like a gimping veteran who'd lived through too many wars. To top it all off, there was this aged sycamore tree leaning nearby that had been killed off by beetles. It was an axe over a chopping block and Ms. Schneider's old hovel was right smack in the way should it decide to fall.

She urinated on the second notice. Thankfully it wasn't in the public eye, so nobody had to go through the unpleasantness of arresting her for indecency. No, she was content to do it privately, put it back in an envelope, and let the mailman deal with the odiferous present. Witnesses said he turned green.

By the third notice the ordeal had become a joke. It had to be a joke. Otherwise it was too undignified to think about. At the end of the day we were still trying to kick an old widow out of her house. That it was for her own good was only a passing comfort.

I was chosen to make the house call. My name was drawn out of the neighborhood hat, along with a lot of nervous laughter and shifty glances. It was probably rigged. I was the newest blood in Bradenburry, a whole two years young, and had the least weight. I didn't argue. I was curious enough to want to know more about the old woman, something beyond the he said she saids.

The nervous laughter followed me out the door as I headed towards her street.

I was stunned to find her on her front porch. Before it aged it was probably quite lovely and impressive. Now it drooped on both ends, the shoulders of a retired blue-collar worker. Ms. Schneider rocked back and forth, her feet in slippers and tapping the creaking wood as she went.

I was careful to keep on the sidewalk and off the dead grass. She didn't look at me, but she talked.

"We had this old tradition in my family, this old-time thing. Marriage was a big deal back in my day. None of this splittin' up swill over the living room furniture."

I paused on the steps, staring and silent.

"We'd plant a tree, see. Me and my husband. He was a big strong kinda man. A real man. Wanted to raise him a family up good and right. So we stuck that big sycamore down and its roots was our roots. We planted it on our ground and set to buildin' our lives all around it."

She grew quiet. Her eyes were rheumy, and they still weren't looking at me. Somehow I just knew I wasn't supposed to talk so I didn't.

"When it was time to go t'war, well, he went. Had to protect his country, see. There was a real evil in the world, not like there'd ever been before. Men all want t'be heroes. He died like one, too. He planted a little seed up inside me and then scattered to th'wind when he threw hisself on a grenade."

I winced. I hadn't been prepared for this. Still I wasn't sure what to say, so I continued to say nothing.

"My baby boy, he was a sweet boy, let me tell you. He was just like his daddy. Hard workin' thing. He and I kept this place runnin', leastways t'suit our needs good enough. He was sharp as a whip. Got hisself a scholarship and a full ride. He was on his way."

A tear trickled down her cheek. I looked away.

"A drunk driver took him. He was nineteen. He was engaged t'be married, ready to give me some grandbabies."

"I'm sorry," I murmured.

"Words," she replied. It wasn't harsh, just blunt. "Them's just words we say to make ourselves feel better. I started thinkin' maybe I was some kinda Job. You know Job. The devil was given leave t'make his life hell just t'see if he'd stay loyal. And I said Lord, Lord Almighty, if you're testin' me take it all from me. Lord, take it all."

Her eyes were finally on me, boring into me. I couldn't meet them. I stared at that dead sycamore tree, full of holes, brown and rotting as it stood. Her words came spat past her teeth.

"What I wanted was for him t'take me, too. I was tellin' him t'take me. I praaaaayed and I praaaaayed. I prayed for it like a dyin' man prays for life. I wanted him t'stop my beatin' heart, because it felt like it shoulda long ago. But he never did. I'm ninety seven, and I think that's the cruelest thing of it all. Ninety seven and nobody wants me, and I got nothin' left but bitter bones."

The rocking resumed, creaking back and forth steadily.

"I ain't no Job, boy. Job weathered through them storms. I let 'em eat me. If there is a God up there waitin', he'll hear no praise from my bitten tongue."

Ms. Schneider raised her hand and pointed it at me accusingly.

"Now you get out of my yard."

And I did.

You get so tired that you can't even stand up.

You become so burdened that you don't know how to function.

You run away from everything.

You hide yourself in the cracks of your pain.

You let go of all that afflicts you.

You lose yourself inside of your emotions.

You release all of your fears and frustrations.

You, in those moments, find yourself.

You discover how beautiful and strong you are.

You realize how ugly everything else is.

You recognize that even when you're alone, you have yourself.

Growing up, I had a friend and enemy I could never be rid of nor never truly wanted to. She was, in all regards better than me. She was cuter than me, smarter, athletic, charismatic, pious, and more clever than me. She was a nemesis I was eternally proud of.

Some say twins have a special bound. I don't know anything about that, but maybe it is just spending and sharing every experience with them that looks extraordinary to someone who hasn't experienced the same. Her firsts were my first and I would like to say mine were hers, but I was always a step behind.

Even when we got sick, she was the first to cough and for her blisters to open. It was Gods will. We were being tested so we stayed at home. We prayed five times a day for our deliverance.

I remember waking up that morning. The morning I woke up before her. I rolled over and shook her. I teased her. I sang in a mocking tone that I had beat her.

And I had. I had finally bested her. I survived.

It was all I had ever wanted for as long as I could remember. To be better than her. But the chase was over and I was hollow. I continued to improve in health and as I did, my parents grew more distant.

I had always known she was their favorite and if I am honest, she was mine. The wrong twin had survived. Their scorn grew and I became nothing more than tolerated. I was a reminder of what should have been. I was the inadequate replacement. I was the damaged goods. There was no option but to cast me out.

They say time heals all wounds. That in time the pain with subside. But I don't want it to. That pain is all I have of her. I would rather let it fester than to lose the last connection I had with her.

She would know what to do to make this all go away. She would be able to mend the bridges. She would know the right words to make everything better. But all we are left with is the wrong twin.

One day a stranger stood before me

there was a time when I knew her so well

darkness wrapped its arms around her

and continues to hold her close

and prowls close behind her

these days she is just a mold of a girl

a memory

an actress playing a role

I smile at her

she smiles at me

we both turn away

I take one last look at the girl

meeting her lifeless eyes

I realize that I’ve lost her

the girl I knew so well

the girl I desperately needed to come back

slowly

I walk away from the mirror

It may have been the whiskey the princess and I consumed after he boarded the plane. Maybe the parting words he whispered before stepping on the escalator, "You always take my jokes seriously and laugh when I'm telling the truth-what more could I want?" All these tiny sub-plots shacking up together until our destinies were a tangled mess of co-dependent probabilities.

We were made for loss, the three of us. The opposite ends of the globe conspired for eight weeks to fuse our skins until geographical impossibilities ripped them into separate humans again. A line of happy paper-dolls forced to face the world as flimsy individuals. The universe never holds its breath.

So we ricocheted back across oceans, finding places where the booze ran free and our lungs recognized the air. Still, the ache. Memory became an angel that tortured and sensitized.

The princess faded like Sleeping Beauty, letting silence lull her into a dreamland where everything floated in suspended animation.

He and I swung across the internet hoping to inspire some kind of apocalypse. Nothing moved.

We were relentless romantics, yelling through a translator that worked in binary.

When actual death occurred, there was little to say. All that beauty had bled its way into the fluid suspending our cells. We rose together and we fell, loss ebbing like the slow seconds sliding their way through bone and dream.

"Spierdalaj," she hissed, clutching the wound in her side with bloody pale hands. She didn't need to translate into Polish. "Wypierdalaj. Leave."

The other smiled innocently, twirling a knife in his fingers. "Why should I? This forest supplements me well. I have no reason to leave. Besides," he continued thoughtfully, "it might be harmed or - ah - even killed!" He raised his eyebrows, his mouth still in a smile. The unconscious wolf at his feet twitched.

"Devin," she growled. The man raised his eyebrows.

Emily Lyzsowa suddenly jumped up, a ball of dark magic in her hand. "Zatrzymać!" The force of the magic hit him on full blast, Devin staggering back, clutching his smoking cloak.

He chuckled though he was obviously in pain. "Not bad, not bad..." Devin pointed to the unconscious wolf on the ground. "But if you want it to stay alive and not eaten by some..monster, you'll have to stop." He smirked.

Emily growled again, her energy spent. "Leave Varona alone!" Poor, poor Varona... How dare he! An innocent wolf! And of the Shadow Tribe! "S-Stop, leave this forest, you man-monster!"

Devin raised his eyebrows again, the smirk still present. "Gladly."

Before Emily could think, Devin grabbed Varona, slung the wolf over his shoulder, and exited. "Mam nadzieję, że się zadławić morsa i umrzeć."

Emily dropped to the ground, tears in the corners of her silver eyes. "Pieprzyć!" she hissed, refusing to let the tears flow.

Wolves slowly crept towards her from the forest. She recognized them as the fierce Shadow Tribe that raised her, mourning the lost member, Varona. Emily stared at the ground unseeingly, wondering what she could have done differently...

She thought back to Devin's parting words and smiled grimly.

"Mam nadzieję, że się zadławić morsa i umrzeć."

I hope you choke on a walrus and die.

______________________________________________________________

If you want to know what the Polish means, go on Google Translate.

If there are any people who speak Polish (and know how to curse in it), any suggestions and corrections are appreciated!

:3

on the street lies a teddy bear

of polka spotted fur

once held close

by clutching hands

now abandoned

or dropped unintentionally

soon to be missed

it is a yet a bright spot

on this wearily traveled road

for the loss of one

may be another's gain

You can feel it biting you

Clawing at you

Screaming at you to

Break down

Cry

Destroy

But you keep going

Because that's what

They would have wanted

What they gave their life to

So you ignore that

Gaping hole

In your chest that's

Screeching for attention

And

Forget

Work

Build

Laugh

Create

You can have the day

The tears always claim the night

Because no matter

How much you live

They are still gone

And they're

Never

Coming

Back

“STOP!” screamed a woman tears and snot running freely down her face. “Just stop!” She sobbed wrapping her arms around herself.

I ignored her and kept on pressing down on the flimsy rib-cage praying to God to save this one. My team surrounded the bed working, each knowing their jobs.

“Another round of epi!” was the only other voice besides the crying woman, beeping machines, oxygen pressure and footsteps. Everyone else whispered to each other.

“Epi, given at 7:59.” One of the nurses spoke up to another who was in the corner writing furiously on a patient chart.

“I said STOP!” The woman was now beside me, pushing two techs out of the way she grabbed my arm and pinched as hard as she could. “STOP!” She bellowed in my ear just as the trauma team arrived.

I exchanged looks with Dr. Gavenston who shook his head, we had been working against time for the past hour. I looked back to the team and nodded my head.

Someone took my spot and started another round of compressions. I took off my blue gloves, navigated between several people taking my time and gathering my thoughts I reached the trash can and let out a sigh, it was going to be a long day.

Dr. Gavenston had taken the distraught woman out of the room he was talking quietly to her. She leaned against the wall bent at the waist ignoring the Kleenex in front of her. I walked over to her, each step carried the weight of the world.

“Ms. Henly?” I asked as gently as I could. Her head came up, her dark brown eyes stared at me with a mix of hatred and betrayal.

“I told you to stop.” Her voice sent shivers down my spine.

“Ms. Henly we’re doing everything we can—”

“Stop, working on him.” She was now standing tall, walking towards me her hands balled into fists shaking with every step. “How dare you. Why would you keep going, breaking every bone in his body with your oversized club of a hand?” Even though she was several inches shorter, she met me eye to eye.

“Would you like to see your son? Is there anyone we can call?” I lowered my voice trying to make it sound comforting.

“Just stay away from my boy, you killed him.” She pushed passed me and stalked to the closed curtain she paused long enough to turn back to me, “His death is on your hands.”

I walked in behind her, in the middle of the white linen bed laid a broken body. A little baby, six months old lay sprawled, his little fists clenched, wires hooked onto every part of his body which was almost translucent. Ms. Henly pushed a nurse out of the way and grabbed him screaming his name over and over again; Johnny.

Three days later I picked up the morning newspaper and choked on my coffee burning my tongue and throat as the liquid scorched on its way down. A mug shot of Ms. Henly’s face covered the front page.

Mother To Stand Trial for Murder of Six Month Old.

Anna Henly was taken in to custody after Johnny Henly was pronounced dead at LockWood General. Autopsy reports show high levels of bleach and multiple broken bones in various stages of healing. Henly is to go on trial for first degree murder in mid-August. Johnny Henly’s funeral will be held on Saturday, August 1st.

For some reason I felt compelled to go to his funeral I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about his little body and his mother’s last words; His death is on your hands. I called the funeral home to find out what time he was to be buried and they gave me the time.

Saturday arrived and I dressed in my best suit. I drove across town to the cemetery near the Catholic Church. I pulled into a gravel driveway and was surprised to see only one car in the lot. I feared I had gotten the wrong address until I saw two men carrying a small wooden casket between them. I threw my car into park and stumbled over my shoes as I hurried to catch up.

The priest was waiting beside a shallow grave, there was four of us all together to bless his soul for his passing.

“Do you want to add anything?” The priest asked after he prayed over the body. I was surprised he was looking at me. For some reason I wanted to say something I cleared my throat and ran my hand through my hair as I knelt by the tiny little box.

“Hey. I am so sorry, you held on for such a long time with all that pain." Tears fell down my face. "I hope you find some happiness where ever you may be."

Shaking my head I walked away life was so unjust. With each step I shed more tears realizing how much was lost. There would be no first steps, no kindergarten graduation, no first kiss, not even a first smile. There was only pain.