All Aboard
“You don’t have to do that.”
He hesitated, hand mid-gesture. “What?”
“That.”
“But--”
“Mac, I love you. You don’t have to prove anything to me.” My hand reached for his. We pulled close together, away from the other couples on the platform.
“I want to.”
“You don’t--”
“I want to.”
I sighed. “Mac, really. It’s not forever.”
“But Kelly…” his voice trailed off. I noticed his hand lingering near his belt. Near the knife.
The train whistled in the distance. “Mac.” My eyes ran over those around us, none of them focusing on our conversation.
“What?”
“Please. Please.”
“If you do love me, you’ll let me show you.” His eyes grew wide. “You’ll let me show you the only way I know how.”
I released his hand. “Have it your way.”
Mac pulled out the glinting blade.
I stepped closer.
“Undo my buttons.”
I didn’t argue.
“From the first time--”
One button. A collarbone.
“--I ever saw you--”
One more button. The heave of a chest.
“--I knew--”
Muscles. Skin. Heat.
He raised the knife. “I wanted to give you the most precious thing in my life.”
I flinched when the knife plunged in. He didn’t. Not even sawing through bone. Not even when he exposed the most vital part of himself to me.
“Take my heart,” he gasped. “It’s all I have to give.”
I watched it, blurbing blood weakly. Mac sank to his knees. The train’s brakes squealed against the tracks.
“Mac--”
“Take it.” Now we attracted attention. Sad looks from some, sympathetic from others.
I reached into the warm wet space of his chest. My hand slid past a lung, grasping its prize.
“Mac, I love you.”
He didn’t hear me. He was gone. I took the heart anyway. Slippery and bloody in my hands. Still warm, the last warmth I felt from Mac. The damn fool.
The door of one car opened. A man in uniform stepped out, calling to those who remained, “All aboard!”
Reflections on a Weeknight
There’s the silent hum of the fan,
the tumble of the dryer
the quiet heat of humidity
pressing against the window pane.
The TV’s been off
for hours now
the tell-tale sound
of missing footsteps crowds the night
Books surround the room on shelves
millions of words swarming and unspoken
waiting for a chance
a breath
the opportunity to be cracked open
From this one stationary spot
the world revolves and pauses;
the world does not care.
The mundane moves on.
To My Summer Love
It’s the time when calves
venture further away from
their mommas and wonder
what the grass tastes like
on the other side of the barbs
And they wander through the
sun-soaked field as far
and as fast as they can.
It’s this same time that
fledglings jump
or are pushed
or fall
out of trees, the wind
whistling louder than their cries
The fledglings aren’t the
only ones to test wings
and the calves aren’t the only ones
to sample the new grass.
Everyone samples the
petrifying excitement
of loving the thing
you were meant to love
before you know you were
meant to love it.
Of Love and Liquor
The first of my loves tasted of cheap wine in a water bottle.
He snuck in windows my senior year.
I wanted him, but in the wrong ways,
And it hurt,
So this love accused me of lying, and he wasn’t wrong.
The next love smelled of menthols and tasted like cheap beer.
He was a Pabst Blue Ribbon
and me waiting for him outside of a concert
Because I got kicked out for sneaking a drink from him.
He did not come to wait with me.
He was followed not so long by and old and new love in the summer
Mixed with the smell of salt and the taste of expensive tequila,
All quick fun and rekindled crushes from high school days,
But ultimately a pair of Vans I’d outgrown.
And last was the love only felt, only said, only expressed
with a chaser of whiskey
Alone and naked,
Metaphorically and literally,
Oh but this one. This new love
This new love is a fresh drink of something
I have no memory of tasting,
And I wish for more of.
I Want to Fly
The river ripples and crests against the supports on the bridge. It’s the only thing holding me steady in this moment.
“I want…” I can’t finish the thought, either in my head or out loud. There’s no one here to listen.
The wind rushes through my hair and up my spine. A tornado blows through my thoughts. They mix, muddle, murk up. They layer one on top of the other. It’s suffocating.
My knuckles turn white as my grip tightens on the railing separating me from empty space and the muddy Mississippi. I’m thinking of your right now. I know they’ll wonder what went through my mind--all these moments locked together. Links in a chain.
“I want…”
I know what I want, but the words won’t come out.
I want to jump.
To fly.
I want to feel that rush. The one in the summer, when you and I ride in the car on our way to our favorite places. The one where the windows are down and we’re flying down the interstate. Where the wind rushes through your hair and drowns out my life. The rush of wind moving so fast that you can’t catch your breath.
When the adrenaline pulses and my arms shake from excitement--from fear--I consider letting go. This one final flight will make me a bird. The night is warm, but the finality of this last adventure makes my veins run with ice. I think of winter. I think of cardinals. How pretty they are in the snow.
But if I fly, if I let myself go, I’ll be the spring songbird trapped in the snow. Songbirds don’t survive the harsh winter.
I think of you, one more time. I know what I want.
I want to fly.
#flashfiction #shortfiction #writingchallenge