He wrote his name 

in cursive...

because he thought

it sounded good

...the clawing

from the underside

of the wood...

left the right impression

or at least,

the one he felt it should;

Humanity might be proud

...to speak no condolences aloud,

they could surely bury

their differences now

...with the hatchet that 

hung prominently

just above his neck

... a symbol like

of aborted motherhood,

that thinks of others,

more seldom than one should;

The view lifted as in a veil

to the underworld...

he was bad this he knew,

a bother, even...

in this silence

beneath his due;

here where he would leave

in the negative...

his causal, final,

I love you;

... he fell smug

in the open dirt

seeing the whole,

as very full

I just stood there staring at her grave. “I’m sad too. She was my mom as well.” My dad said as he placed his hand on my shoulder. “I just can’t believe it dad. Grandma is gone.” I started tearing up at the thought of never seeing my grandma again. “First mom, And now grandma.” I said looking down at grandma’s grave. I turned to face my dad and saw a tear on his cheek. When he saw me looking at him, he wiped it off. “Dad? Will you leave me too?”

“Of course not! I will stand by your side. Always.” Dad replied with a smile. “Let’s go home. It’s getting late.” Dad said as he walked towards the car. When we arrived at our house, dad told me to go and sleep while he got to work. I saw that by work he meant cleaning grandma’s stuff out. I went to bed but had a hard time sleeping.

“Dad, when will breakfast be ready?” I asked going down the stairs. As I entered his room, I was greeted with a pale, lifeless body with a hole in its head and blood all over his desk. I rushed to grab a phone in the living I could save him. “I-I need an ambulance immediat...” I heard the sound of a bullet. Before I could react, I was shot in my arm. I fell down and as I fainted, I saw the figure of a tall man move closer...

Julianna had heard the phrase “raining in sheets”, but hadn’t entirely understood it until spending a stormy season in Florida. It was doing just that as she made her way down the dirt road just off of State Road 50. The Honda’s headlight bobbed and heaved with the severe dips cut into the mud by the afternoon showers for the past week. She struggled to see through water pouring onto her windshield as the wipers made pitiful attempts at slicing through it, providing only the weakest amount of visibility.

The old bag’s probably asleep, as usual, she thought to herself, straining to see the flimsy black mailbox that would signal the Tethers’ house. She probably wouldn’t even notice if I skipped this stop. She pressed onward, though, knowing it would be just her luck for Reeva Tethers to be waiting up for her and call into the office to give them an earful of just how lazy and inconsiderate her caretaker was.

Julianna’s eyes flicked to the clock one her dashboard; 8:46 P.M. Darkness had fallen an hour prior, but even before that it had been dreary and grey with storm clouds crawling across the sky around 1 in the afternoon. She suppressed the urge to be upset she wasn’t back at her house, reading a book with her new tea she had picked up the day before instead of inching down a sorry excuse of a clay road in Florida swamp lands, praying she wouldn’t get stuck.

Thoughts of cool grass and fragrant breezes thrust at the boundaries holding them back. Memories surge to the surface, stroking pleasure from the depths. Drifting off to sleep, the memories linger, spinning into dreams of the past. Running free through the lengthy stems, feeling the harsh edges of the blades catch and release in the regular rhythm of movement, the sun shining hot and bright on his back. Air flowing fresh with snatches of scent, streaming into being like magic, awakening hungers long forgotten. Legs churn and ears twitch, as remembrance shakes the foundation of his existence. The absence of the exquisitely boundless feeling of freedom becomes unbearable, even in slumber, and the bear wakes, shaking free of the dream. Lifting his head, he sniffs the stale air coming through the bars of his cage. A single tear falls from his lash as he wearily lays his head back down.

Being alone in the dark used to be what Jacob was scared of most.

What had just taken place though, had transformed the boy's greatest fear into suddenly his best friend. One that held him and squeezed him and blinded anybody who tried to come near.

Having been witness to the event, the various blouses and dresses that hung above by flimsy hangers did their best to console him. Combing gently through his hair with the softest of threads.

The forgotten shoe boxes off to the left could do nothing more than emanate a smell. A comfortable smell. One that quickly drowned out the fragrance that she had in her hair.

Everything was still. Incomplete. The closet's belongings were in mourning.

All lending a helping hand.

"I will say that I kissed you and you were just blown away. Ok? No need for anything over dramatic. The quicker we get out, the better." Looking through the shutters, she gave a long, exasperated sigh.

"Why couldn't the bottle land on Roy. He looks so cute tonight."

Before she could see, Jacob took the offer of a blue skirt and quickly wiped away a tear.

It was quiet. The only sound was the discordant clicking of keys... no one looked up from their respective cubical. We all "knew" one another, yet no one cared to talk... unless necessary. A sense of familiarity borne out of routine... a half hearted second guessing. We showed up at the same time every day and the drudgery connected us... a drudgery that didn't deserve comment. To reach beyond this would be rude somehow, an impolite transgression that no one dared to traverse. The silence felt like reverence for the half-lives lived... parallel acceptance of what is... an apathetic peace.

“EMPTY THE REGISTER OLD MAN!”

This can’t be happening right now! I’m only here for one thing and one thing only! I duck behind the back of neatly assorted chips.

“Son I don’t want any trouble” the old man waves his hands.

“FASTER OLD MAN!”

There is no time to be a hero I argue with myself. I just cower behind the snacks looking at the clerk shake and sniffle. He can barely punch the keys to open the register.

The gunman goes to hit him “HEY” I just became the hero. My inner man yells at me.

“WHO THE FUCK IS THIS? YOU CALL THE COPS?”

I inch closer exclaiming who I am.

Two seconds later the gunman is on the floor the clerk knocks him out cold with his shot gun.

“Now what can I get you sonny?”

I nearly trip over my heart dragging against the floor as I move slowly toward the gunman.

“Condoms I just need some condoms”

The clerk hands me two boxes.

“On the house son”

The old man holds the gun overtop of the gunman’s head like he’s something inhuman.

“You have a great night son”

The clerk winks and smiles.

“Yes I’d like to report a robbery”

The lights were dim and the blinds were closed, casting a grey pallor on my already gray father, lying still under a graying white sheet with a faded “Holy Name Hospital” printed on it in pale green. An impossible number of wires and tubes ran from his nose, mouth, skull, abdomen. A machine wheezed, forcing air into his lungs, and then hissed marking an exhale. Another machine beeped, a green glow signaling a heart beat. I studied the monitors, hoping for a clue, any reassurance that he was improving, but they held their secrets. A shadow passed in front of the door, paused briefly, then moved on. I held Dad’s hand, gently rubbing the paper thin skin and the familiar freckles, and whispered encouraging mantras more for myself than for him. “You’re gonna be fine, Dad. Just squeeze my hand to let me know you can hear me, “ I begged. When I was a little girl, Dad had always squeezed my hand extra hard at the Sign of Peace in Church to try to make me giggle. Today, he didn’t squeeze at all. In fact, the longest 11 days of my life passed before there was any response.

INT. Minami Hisoka’s Room – Day

Dirty clothes and an assortment of garbage is scattered all over the floor. The bed is on one side of the room left unmade, a mess of sheets and pillows. Beside that is a nightstand that has drawers with socks and undergarments hanging out of them. A cutesy alarm clock of an anime girl stands on top, along with several uneven stacks of manga. Next to that, there’s a bookcase full of manga. There’s a window beside that with blinds and curtains drawn. On the other side of the room, there’s a closet and a computer desk that has shelves of figurines of female characters from various anime series. The only source of light comes from the lamp on the desk as well as the computer screen.

Seated at the desk is MINAMI HISOKA, a young man who’s dressed in oversized sweats. His hair is greasy and messy. There are heavy bags underneath his bloodshot eyes, which are glued to the screen, watching an idol group of anime girls perform on stage as he clutches a body pillow of one of the girls close to his chest.