I have gained so much weight so fast my skinny jeans beg to be saved from certain death. Twelve years ago, I weighed ninety pounds. Fall reminds me of riding my bike to the grocery store, picking up Fat Free cottage cheese and going home, picking apart the curds. Sometimes seasons bring us home, and sometime you're just overweight in sweater season, a blessing because it hides all the shame.

I have decided fall is the time of new beginnings. I put on a yoga video this morning. In time with the instructor, I did crow pose and cat cow. It won't help. When I was sixteen all those years ago, I didn't know margaritas taste better than being thin. That chips and guacamole taste better than skinny.

Fall is nostalgic because I am far from home. I flew across the country with two suitcases four years ago last month, carrying mostly clothes. I was a size four. Those days are gone, like the leaves I used to watch outside my window in Boston. They fell and sometimes decomposed, sometimes raked up and put somewhere else. I wonder where they went. Some of them blew away. Fate is often tied up in the seasons, and I like to think of fall as when I decided to buy a one way plane ticket to where I now call home and left the scale behind.

It doesn't ultimately matter what size jeans I am, because fall always comes and Fat Free cottage cheese will forever forward be replaced by margaritas and chips, no matter where we all blow away to.

Jack sat in his office, a very rare moment of piece and quiet, the only few minutes he had to himself, only this time he was reminded of the never ending storm that surrounded him as he held an ice pack to his head. He jumped slightly as he heard a knock on the door: “Come in” he greeted, silently praying it wouldn’t be who he thought it would be: “Hi” Molly greeted with a bright smile that faded as soon as she saw him: “Hi” he answered, putting the ice pack on the table: “What happened this time”? “Nothing I’m fine, what did you want”? “Jack”- “ Don’t” he demanded, putting his hand up a little to silence her. Molly sighed entering the room: “I, just, came to give you this back”. She informed him, placing the book she’d borrowed the week before on the table beside the ice pack: “Thanks”. There was a beat of silence before Molly sat at the other side of Jack’s desk: “Wanna talk about it”? Jack shook his head, Molly reached out her hand and rubbed Jack’s arm in comfort, he swallowed hard before swiftly moving his arm away and standing up: “So er, what did you think of the book”? He asked: “Er yeah, yeah it was good, the main character was a bit snobbish at times but”- Jack cut her off with a chuckle: “Hey at least she knows what she wants unlike her useless, floundering boyfriend”. Molly gasped in mock offence: “Doug was not floundering ok he was weighing up his options”. Jack laughed rolling his eyes playfully: “Oh I’m sure”. “We can’t all be like you you know, having it all figured out by the time you’re 30”. “Well at least I’ll never end up settling for a job I was forced into huh”? Molly rolled her eyes back at him, happy to see that smile on his face again: “I’ve missed this”. “Me too”. Molly stood up, walked over to him and took both his hands in hers: “I’ve missed how this feels, how you feel”. She whispered, leaning closer to him, he closed his eyes and breather in her scent before remembering himself and stepping back: “We can’t, you know we can’t, what are you trying to do Molly”?!

“Nothing, nothing I’m sorry I was just saying you don’t have to keep pushing me away”- “Don’t you think I have enough to deal with right now with Taylor and this job, I don’t need you coming in here and confusing things again”! Molly looked at him for a moment: “What did Taylor do this time Jack”? “Get out”. He ordered, heading back to his desk: “No, no I’m not leaving you like this, tell me what she did”. “Just go Molly”! He yelled, pointing to the exit, Molly walked toward the door and closed it behind them, locking it shut: “No, not until you tell me what happened”. “Please, please just go away”. Jack asked, voice breaking a little. She went over to him and knelt down in beside his desk, facing him: “I just wanna help, please baby stop shutting me out”. Jack sighed heavily, then broke down sobbing, he fell into Molly’s arms.

They stayed in the embrace for a few moments before Jack found his voice again: “These last few days were great, it was like old times, we were getting along again, we were happy, there was no fighting no tension, it was like how it was when we were dating, before she sucked me in I guess you could say”. “I’d never say that”. “Then this morning”- he shook his head: “We had an argument because I told her I might have to work late, I didn’t even say it was definite but she got so upset, I offered to make her breakfast to make up for it and she told me not to bother and turned to leave, I didn’t want her leaving like that so I took her hand and lead her toward the frying pan”. He shuddered: “She picked it up up and kept hitting me with it until I legged it out the front door, had my spare shoes in the car just in case”. “You drove here”?! “I was carful don’t worry, I just had to get out of there as fast as possible you know”? “I don’t know what I’ll get tonight, guilt and an apology or”… “I’m sorry, you don’t deserve any of this”. “It was so out of the blue, I thought maybe we’d finally moved passed this”. He sighed: “guess I was wrong, she doesn’t mean it though, not really, these past few months have been really difficult for her”. “That’s not an excuse, you know that deep down or you wouldn’t be looking for an escape would you”? Molly picked up the ice pack from off the table and held it to Jack’s head: “Your head still looks a little swollen, we should get it looked at”.

“I’m fine don’t worry about it”. “You could have concussion”. “I’m fine, I just wanna stay here with you is that ok”? “Only if we go after our little heart to heart”. Jack chuckled despite himself: “Stubborn cow, it’s a good job I’m the boss huh”? “Otherwise there’d be a lot more to this argument, what if they don’t believe our story when they ask what happened”? “It’s ok, it doesn’t have to be anything elaborate we’ll just say you got into a bar fight or something, believable enough right”? Jack shrugged: “Suppose”. Molly put the ice pack on the floor beside them: “She wasn’t always like this”. Molly nosed: “I know, and I’m sure for a while it was wonderful, but look where you are now, is this really how you wanna spend the rest of your life”? “Of course not”.

“Then why won’t you leave her”? He sighed, disentangling himself and moving to sit beside her instead: “It’s easy for you to ask that, you have no idea how it feels, I’d never even make it past the door, she’d kill me”! “I’d never let that happen”. “What happens if she finds out about you”? “About us”? “You know what she’s capable of”. “I can handle her”. Molly tried to reassure, reaching for Jack’s hand: “And, say I did leave, where would I go”? “You know how my dad is, a man should never show weakness”. Jack mocked in his dad’s tone of voice, Molly rolled his eyes: “He needs to get his head out of the Stone Age”. “I haven’t got any other family, Taylor guilt tripped me into giving up all my friends apart from Colin and Zack and I almost never hang round them anymore either, besides, even if she hadn’t made me give them all up, it’d still be humiliating, the big boss man of Harvest-Mead terrorised by his 5ft 3 wife”. “We wouldn’t have to tell anyone that part”. “It’s still humiliating, not being able to keep my marriage together longer than a year”. “She’s the one who should be humiliated ok not you, it doesn’t matter what other people think”. “It does to me” Jack mumbled, head bent low: “it’s bad enough that I know the whole story, much less someone else knowing parts of it, it was hard enough admitting it all to you”. Jack lifted his head back up to meet her eyes: “I’m scared Mols, I’m not ready, I’m sorry””. Molly nodded, moving closer to him and taking his hand in hers again: “Ok, then I’ll wait, and then when you are ready, we’ll go to the police”- Jack yanked his hand away: “What”?! “No”! “We can’t go to the police”! “What if”- Molly placed a hand to Jack’s cheek, stroking it affectionately: “Hey shhh it’s ok it’s ok we don’t have to think about that right now ok”? “When you’re ready, we’re gonna figure out a way to get you out of this, then we can run away together, somewhere no one knows us, or we can stay here, move into my old place downtown, whatever you need ok”? Jack nodded, breathing out a sigh of relief: “Thanks Mols”. Molly smiled back at him: “Always, and how about as a starting point I act as a buffer for you”? He looked at her puzzled: “I could randomly run into her one day, strike up a conversation, hit it off, become best mates, that way I could come over all the time, she’d be far less likely to start anything while I’m around”.

He smiled at her with unbridled appreciation: “You’d really do that for me”? “Of course, I’d do anything for you”. She smiled mischievously at him, moving closer: “And when she’s not home, we can”… She kissed him firmly on the lips before trailing her mouth from his jaw down to his neck, being carful not to suck the skin so as not to leave a mark. Jack tilted his head back with a contented sigh, after a few seconds she pulled back: “This is what it’s supposed to be like isn’t it”? “Love”. “Baby yes, this is exactly how it’s supposed to be”. Jack swallowed: “T-Taylor doesn’t love me does she”? Molly kept her mouth shut, not knowing what to say: “Do you think she ever loved me”? “Was I always just supposed to be something for her to step on”? “I don’t know, I mean it’s possible she loved you in the beginning”. “What changed”? Molly fell silent again: “Sometimes, sometimes I think I still love her, I can’t always tell”. Molly took his hand in hers a third time: “And that’s ok, you don’t have to figure this all out at once, all that matters is us and how we feel about each other”. She paused: “I love you”. He smiled “I love you too”. He leant in and kissed her deeply, she sighed happily as they broke apart: “I’ve been waiting so long to hear you say that, and that’s what we have to focus on ok”? “That we love each other and that we know this is real”. He wrapped her in a hug and she hugged him back: “I wish we could stay like this forever, I just wanna be in your arms”. He pulled back a little, putting a hand to her cheek: “Promise me you’ll stay with me, promise me that no matter what else happens I will always have you, please, I don’t wanna be on my own”. “I promise, I’m not going anywhere, but in order for you to feel that and know that you’ve got to stop pushing me away ok”? He nodded: “I’ll try, I don’t think i have the energy to push you away anymore anyway”. He gave her a week smile, then pulled her back in for another hug, they stayed like that until she insisted they went to the hospital for his head.

“The Red Wheelbarrow”

“so much depends

upon”

“a red wheel

barrow”

“glazed with rain

water”

“beside the white

chickens”

~ William Carlos Williams, The Collected Poems.

—————————————

Shirley blinked at the wall. She was not pleased with the colour of it, not at all. Why had the painter decided to place dollops of a colour that made Shirley feel like she was staring at sour cream. She had told the so called “greatest artist of the modern times” to paint the wall with a bright colour. But now here she stood still trying to maybe change the colour of the wall with her mind— at least maybe to a more fun colour like red.

Her alarm beeped snapping her mind back to reality. Ah, she forgot she had to meet up with her dear friend at the movies in about an hour. She dashed toward the kitchen, and looked for her car keys.

The sound of the doorbell rang. She raised her eyebrow. Her friend would usually call before they’d show up at her door. She hurried toward it, and opened the door. A stranger dressed in a bright red coat smiled at her. He bowed his head, and asked, “Is your home available for someone to stay…only for part of the season..not the whole year.’’ It took her a while to register what he was finding out from her. She smiled at the gentleman, & told him to come in.

He stepped into her home, and clasped his hands. His face twisted around like an owl’s. He stared at Shirley as his face started to turn upside down. Shirley froze for a brief second as she screamed. Then she made a beeline past the guest, and bolted toward the kitchen.

She opened one of the drawers and pulled out one of her sharpest knives. The stranger chuckled. “Shirley— that will not stop me- you should know that by now. Oh, you humans can be so silly most of the time.”

Shirley waved the knife frantically back and forth at the stranger. She felt sweat begin to flow like a small stream across her forehead, along the bridge of her nose.

The guest croaked & after that a giant sticky tongue emerged from his mouth. It landed on Shirley’s face. The stranger licked the sweat off her face and said, “I have been watching you. Trying to study you, a human with not much to her name. You live a life that is so different from mine. In a place that you still are trying to fix, or make better. For me I come from a long line of a wealthy platinum group. We’re provided with a fine place that ends up becoming our home. But even with all that, I still crave much more. I guess after seeing how you live, I had to understand you somehow. Soon after getting to observe you daily, I decided it was time to pay you a visit. To speed things along, and make it easier for us both, I think it shall be best if I helped make the final decision for you.”

With that being final remark, the being started to expand & while that happened its jaws became much sharper, and longer, too. It growled and charged toward Shirley.

The walls that Shirley had been staring at about an hour ago were no longer splattered in a plain looking sour cream colour. Her guest had paid her a quick visit. The stranger bowed his head, and not only took off with part of Shirley in his gut, but also still had her best knife lodged between his lower scaly back, and feathery tail.

#TheShadowMan. (c) 9.29.2022

"I wish I was never born. I wish I wasn't born in this body. I wish my shoulders weren't so skinny. I wish my knees weren't shaped so freakishly on the sides. I wish I didn't have hip dips. I wish I didn't have freckles or this ginger hair. I wish my heart didn't ache with every emotion. I wish I was lovable. I wish I had somebody to love."

I'd recite that every single day and night hoping for something to change. Of course, nothing ever did change. Nobody interested me, and nobody was interested in me.

Today, I didn't recite it. It's the first day of my junior year. I don't want to get up. I really don't. Please, please don't make me. Please don't-

Loud knocking came from outside of my door and made me jump. "Robyn, I know you're awake. Get up." It was my dad. "Can I lay down for a few more minutes? I'll get ready quick-" He slammed his fist against my door to interrupt me. "This is why I told you to go to sleep earlier. Get the fuck up." I could hear the floorboards creaking as he walked away, then him plopping down on that broken leather recliner. He's the one who broke it, not me. Dick.

I sighed and sat up to stretch, immediately falling back down. I love when I stretch like this. Well, until I get a charlie horse. Ouch. I got out of bed and felt a bit dizzy.

I should probably drink more water, now that I think of it. Maybe my lips would be more moist. I hate that word. Moist. Moist lips. I'd like that word on another girl, though.

I grabbed my brush and began to run the bristles through my hair. Despite its color, I love how its wavy and curly texture balances out. It's lovely, isn't it? Especially my fringe. I might fall in love with myself.

I went into my bathroom and washed my face. My eyes feel so weird when I get water in them. It's like the water dries my eyes out. Doesn't water make things wet? I aspire to be like water. I don't wanna make someone's eyes wet, but other places are good.

Sitting back down at my desk, I applied my moisturizer. I won't hide my freckles this year, but only because it takes too much time. I applied my mascara slowly, both on my top and bottom lashes. I only put one or two coats because I already have long lashes. It's the only thing I like about my face aside from my eyes and lips. My nose is cute, but it's too small.

I smeared lip gloss on my lips and touched them to feel how smooth they were. I think I put too much. Oh, well, the more the merrier. So very merry. Shut up.

I slid my golden hoop earrings through my ears. I don't remember the last time I wore these. I should more, though.

"Robyn, hurry up. School starts in twenty minutes!" Dad yelled. My heart dropped like a rollercoaster. Why am I anxious? It only takes a few minutes to get to school. I hate emotions.

I dressed myself in my favorite sage green dress and my chunky brown socks. These converse are really beat up, but they'll have to do. I put my golden cross necklace that my dad makes me wear on and grabbed my bag. It has a few notebooks, pencils and brightly colored pens. This'll help with doodles. Well, preferably my notes that I won't take.

I went out into the living room and saw my dad drinking a beer while watching gold. Why do they play golf so early in the morning? Get a life.

"Are you gonna drive me?" I asked anxiously. "Ride the bike." He said, not even turning my way to speak to his own daughter. "Can you drive me tomorrow?"

"How many fucking questions are you gonna ask me? Can't you see I'm busy?" He exclaimed, turning his head towards me angrily. Busy? Sure, fuckface. "Fine." I said and slammed the house door by accident on the way out. I hurried onto my bike and peddled away so I didn't have to hear him yelling anymore.

Somehow, it was still dark. The street lights were still on. What little sun there was shined into my eye. I know I look good in the sun. It shows how amber my eyes are.

I continued down the street for a few minutes while breathing in the crisp air. Such a nice feeling in my lungs. I felt my boob because there was suddenly an itchy feeling in my lung. I have nice tits. Not too big, but they're decently sized.

I got to school and chained my bike up. I walked through the doors and smelled that new school smell. I love that smell but it gives me anxiety. We went and got my schedule a few days ago, so I think I have Algebra first. Great.

I took the first staircase by the door to the second floor. I had to stay in this class for study hall sometimes, so I know where it is. I hope Mr. Graves doesn't still teach in that class.

He does. I walked through the door and looked around the classroom. Travis used to pick on me here. God, he was hideous.

"Ms. Feyer! It's great to have you back. How's your summer been?" Mr. Graves asked and stuck out his hand. I smiled and shook his hand. "It's been eventful. I'm glad a teacher I know is my first period so it isn't awkward!" I was lying through my teeth. This is awkward.

"Your seat's over there in the row before the last one. The third one. Is that good?" I stared at him and at my seat, then back at him. "Yup, all good!" It was not all fucking good. I don't want that seat, but I know he won't change it.

I sat down at my seat and looked at my desk to see my name written beautifully in cursive. Robyn Feyer. That made me smile a little, seeing my name written so carefully yet in such a swift and violent motion. You can tell how quickly he wrote it, yet so very elegantly. What a sight.

I looked around at the other desks to see what kind of people they could be based off of their names. To my right, there was a Jennifer Jones. Jennifer Jones. I like that name. It's simple, but the first and last name complement each other. The way the J's have that little curl and how round the O is.

"Ya like it?" I heard a deep, raspy feminine voice booming down on me from above. I look up to see a medium-haired blondie who had a lovely color of pink at the tips of her hair. Her hazel eyes were staring into mine. The bridge of her nose was broad, and her cheeks were soft yet bold. She had a septum piercing and a lip piercing. Her lips were a light pink color which complimented her pale skin. Her lips were big. Moist lips. Oh, and she's tall.. she's fucking hot.

Her eyebrows raised and leaned in a little. "Anyone home?" I stuttered and blinked a bit. I could feel my face turning red. I fixed my posture and cleared my throat. "I'm sorry, I zoned out. I assume you're Jennifer?" I said. I'm so nervous.

"No need to be formal, weirdo!" She sat down in her chair. I looked at her outfit. Oh my.

She was wearing an opened brown flannel, a white tank top.. a tank top.. oh, I cannot look there. I continued looking down and saw she was wearing black, ripped cargo pants. She has the same shoes as me. Huh.

"You sure do zone out a lot. My name's, obviously, Jennifer, but I prefer Jenny." She stuck her hand out. What's with everyone wanting to shake my hand-

Oh. Her fingers are long. Her hand is so boney and big, and the rings she's wearing fit her outfit perfectly. My fucking god. I shook her hand and looked at her. She smiled at me and tightened her grip. Such a firm grasp. Oh, and her teeth. They're beautiful. They're so big and her canines are sharp. I bet it'd hurt if she bit me.

"Don't be shy, bro. I don't bite." I wish you did. "I'm not shy, just a little anxious. It's nice to meet you, Jenny. I'm Robyn." She scooted her chair over to my desk and read my nametag. "Ooo, Mr. Graves can make names look like art. Robyn Feyer. Niiice." She's so close. She smells amazing. The way my name rolls off her tongue is.. I can't even think of a word. Fuck.

"I was thinking the same. His handwriting is lovely." You're lovely.

"Right? Damn, I wanna write like that! Too bad this is a fucking math class. Having math first period is baaad luck." She said while scooting back to her desk.

"Wait, come back." Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. "Okay, Ms. Needy." She said jokingly and scooted back. "I just can't hear very well." Is that really the best you could come up with? Fucking idiot. I hate you.

"I'm pretty loud, but I'll follow your orders, Ms. Needy." She said and tapped my desk in a rhythmatic way. Oooh, she's loud.

"What's your middle name?" She asked suddenly. "Mae." I said in a quiet voice. "Mae? Robyn Mae Feyer. That's a pretty name. Who the hell named you, I gotta meet 'em!" She said excitingly.

"What's your middle name?" I repeated her question in attept to change the subject. "Oh, it's fucking Mill. Weird ass name, huh?" She said and laughed, laying her head on my desk. "Jenny Mill Jones. Huh." I said approvingly. "Well, when you say my full name, it sounds better. Except when you say Jennifer Mill Jones. Sounds goofy." She's right. Why did she emphasize the "you", though? I guess she likes my voice. I like mine too, it's rather stern yet feminine.

But.. she's so close. I just met her, so why do I feel like this? She groaned and sat up, stretching her arms. Her legs and arms are so long. I poked her side. She jumped and giggled. Her laugh is adorable. She poked my cheek.

I'm smiling. I'm fucking smiling. "There's that smile! You're really pretty." My heart, oh, my poor heart. It hurts so bad. "You're pretty too-"

"Alright, class is starting, kids." Goddamnit. Jenny looked at Mr. Graves and scooted back to her desk. Her backpack is cool. It's the color of my dress, but more like a sack than a backpack. Huh. She opened it and looked at all the notebooks she brought. They were all different colors. Red, blue, green, yellow, purple, and black. She chose the red one. Thank god.

I got out my red notebook and carefully wrote "Math" on the front with my red pen. She scribbed the same on hers aggressively with a black pen and underlined it a few times. She writes so fast, but her handwriting is.. fascinating. It's not messy, but it's edgy. I can't think of any other way to describe it.

"Copycat." She said and I looked at her. She was still looking at her notebook, but I think she can see me in the corner of her eye because now she's smiling. I immediately looked back at my notebook. "I don't know what you're talking about." I said sarcastically and smiled at my notebook. I heard her laugh lightly and she gently kicked my desk. I quickly turned my head towards her and she was holding in a laugh. We both giggled quietly.

"Ms. Feyer and Ms. Jones. Do I need to move you two already." We both looked up with blank stares. Everybody is looking at us, but I don't care. "No?" We said. He stared at us for a few seconds and sighed. "Okay. Anyways, we're starting class off with notes. Yes, it's the first day, but we have lots to learn." The whole class sighed but Jenny and I looked at each other trying not to laugh.

This is gonna be a good fucking year.

Dear Crooks,

(Including skallywags, hoodlums, ruffians, and whomever else this fateful letter may concern,)

It is with grave solemnity and solemn gravity weighing upon my tremulous bosom that I am compelled to write this letter. It is a perilous action I here undertake, which I nevertheless fear to be necessary in order to implore the sound adjustment of your better natures.

The writing of complaint letters is by no means an easy business. Notwithstanding, it is a responsibility I have taken upon myself, growing as I have in popularity and expertise over the years. It was my hand, for instance, which penned the notorious affidavit of George Soper, (a letter he then folded delicately and placed into his front pocket for later procurement) in which he firmly but genteely accused poor Mary Mallon of asymptomatically and quite unintentionally I'm sure (as the letter tactfully reiterated) spreading Typhoid Fever relentlessly into the trembling mouths of the masses. When dealing with matters of such potent delicacy, I'm sure you understand, it is of utmost importance to ensure that the accused reader does not feel unduly reprimanded, even when they do deserve to rot in all manners of foul sludge and fetid excrement as hardly-adequate penance for the plagues they've inflicted upon society...

Don't get me wrong gentle readers, purloiners, pilferers, filchers and snitches, we're all human here. All filthy vermin and pious pustules alike. Indeed, we are nothing but vile hypocrites at heart. Every one of us. I too have been tempted by the supremacy of the greedy bastard party. You might not know it from my dainty handwriting, but I in fact attained my beginnings in this burgeoning industry of complaints whilst writing itineraries for a criminal mastermind. Oh yes. No one is immune to the fluffy inducements and carnal lusts of brazen law-and-order shirking. It is not my intention to shame you, fellow scoundrels, only to help you to understand that there is a better way forward.

In my illustrious career as a professional complainer, I have complained about almost everything under the sun;

Talentless bassoonists and the rise of phony Buddhism in the tourist industry,

Dodgy saddlemaking and the way it effects the price of tea in Caracas...

Everything...

from grainy raisin manufacturing

to spotty yurt construction-instruction-manuals,

the successful cryogenic preservation of presidents,

the persistence of strawberry-flavored soda, even after it's proven influence on violent crime,

low flow spoeds in axial flow turbines and the concurent frequancy of speling errers in importent dokumunts pertainung too marshian interloping tecnologies.

purportedly backwards-counting odometers which actually count forwardly,

Insolent Rumba-dancers and their inability to structure their barbaric gyrations around the timeless beauty and grace of Tchaikovsky's 5th Symphony,

The extreme amount of ass-kissery which must be required to be permitted to bring the mass-murdering technology of a thermos into a regular gunfight...

These are only a few of the many extraneous examples of what can go horribly (and often quasi-intentionally) wrong in the average human lifespan. Indeed these are merely a minuscule sample of the egregious injustices which have been deemed worthy of my skillful complaining. It is an utter disgrace, I am sure that we can all agree, how frequently my services have been required.

At this juncture I am sure you have guessed the covertly hinted-at purpose of this; my final letter. Yes, it is after this full life of passionate disdain and careful duress, a life of eloquent courtesy and of turbulent address, I find myself at the end of the fabled rainbow. I had, until my arrival in this abysmal locale, been under the youthful impression, as many of you have been or are currently also under, that the end of the rainbow supposedly contains a great many golden treasures collected in sacred chamber-pots wielded by jolly leprechauns, happily frolicking in green fields of gaiety...

Alas, it is not so. There is no gold at the end of the rainbow. Only starchy sheets stained with the soiled reputations of thousands upon thousands of incontinent wretches who befouled this region before me, demeaning nurses administering discomforting suppositories, and painful memories of better times.

Thus, I have decided to join the ranks sinners for once and for all, and commit the dastardly atrocity of doing myself in. Please accept my fervent apologies for all the numerous inconveniences my heartfelt admonishments have caused over the years. I wish you the fondest of farewells.

With sincerest condolences for robbing you of my continued existence forthwith,

Yours, etc,

Mabel Smellyweather.

To presuppose the existence of the thing so-called ‘Brownie,’ one must first establish in no uncertain terms its core properties. Tangibly, as far as human understanding can agree upon, brownies are made from a combination of butter, flour, fresh laid eggs warm from a hen’s pebbly asshole, coca powder (no, not the nose daddy type), baking powder and a dash of salt. This is not even counting the frosting; although it uses a combination of the same ingredients, the butter is softened, the sugar is alchemized into confectioner’s, and a teaspoon of vanilla extract is Pasteur pipetted into mother’s dented mixing bowl.

Now at this point you’re either rock hard, or wet as a bikini just fished out of a shipwreck. Perhaps a pelvis bone is still attached to the hot pink string. However, just because we listed what makes up a brownie, that does not mean that is real. Attachment to what makes us happy can only lead to disappointment. If it exists just like you do, then logically it is just as valid, but through a gluttonous one eye monster that is your mouth, you’ve only consumed and never asked: how does the brownie feel? Is that a question you’d really want to grapple with?

Brownies do exist, but they are full of sugar and not only make you fat but you can feel your teeth rot when you bite into one. Pookie-Bear would never allow all that sugar (as I could have a heart attack). No, I must maintain a maximum weight of one hundred twenty-five pounds at 5’11 in order to live forever. It is the only way. Therefore… no brownies for me, just plenty of Brussels sprouts.

Or, if it is canniballistic tendencies you have and it is the Brownie Organization you are talking about (the grammar in your challenge is insufficient for me to qualify what kind of brownie you mean), then you are a very sick person and should seek immediate help!

When I was a kid, there was a chocolate drink called a “Brownie”. They were similar to a “Yoohoo”. You could only get one from one of those machines where you opened a narrow, vertical glass door on the left hand side of the vending machine. Your options once opened would consist of 3 rows of Cokes (in the old style glass bottles), 2 rows of RC’s, a row of Fresca, and the Brownie’s were always at the very bottom, where little hands could easily reach them. Sugar-free and diet sodas were not even invented yet back in those days.

Yea, I wish I was drinking a Brownie right now… not eating one. Because if I was drinking a Brownie right now it would be 1972. “The Day the Music Died” would be on the radio. My parents would still be married, and Brooks Robinson, Louis L’Amour and Hee-Haw would still be relevant… good things all, in my book.

My Grannies would still be alive if I was drinking that Brownie in 1972, and Damned ’Ole Bear, my first dog (for some unknown reason my dad added the “Damned ‘Ole,” but it stuck). The neighbors always got a kick out of that toe-head, seven year old walking down the street demanding of them, “Y’all seen my Damned ’Ole Bear?”

Yea, I wish I was drinking a Brownie right now. That would be nice. Very nice.

I can almost taste one now.

"Aren't you going to be late?" I watch Lexi pause packing her backpack to put on lip gloss.

She waves a hand at the table we're standing at--we're advertising the ice skating club--and smacks her lips. "No, I have, like," she checks her watch, "oh crap, I have five minutes to get to class." She grabs her bag. "You'll have to take it from here," she tells me, blowing a kiss.

I make a face at her in response, and she laughs as she dashes across the quad, dodging tables as she goes.

I adjust the flyers on the table in front of me, waiting for the next round of classes to let out and release a new wave of students. There's quite a lot of people here already, seeing as it is the Fall Activities Fest and the weather is nice, but most everyone is attending their own booth. Or they're not interested. Or they're walking by and I haven't said anything.

Moral of the story is I'm not very good at attracting attention. That's Lexi's job.

I pick up one of the ice skates we have on the table. It's for figure skating, and it's Lexi's, so naturally it's coated in glitter. A pile of shimmery dust falls onto the table, and when I set the skate down, I notice it on my hand as well. I try and brush the glitter away, but it just sticks to my palm more.

"So, what club is this?"

I look up and into the face of a boy whose skin is darker than my own. His dreads hang across one of his eyes, and he picks up a flyer off the table, barely looking at me.

"Um, ice skating," I tell him, pointing at Lexis' skates.

He laughs. "Yeah, I thought so." As he meets my eye, though, he tilts his head. "Hey, have we met before?"

I rub my palms together, a nervous laugh coming out of me. I'm staring at a cluster of autumn leaves behind him, getting trampled by a group of freshmen. I think I would've remembered him. "No?"

The freshmen approach, and there's four of them, all blonde girls that probably just came from some sorority table. I can feel the boy's brown eyes watching me as I explain the club to them. He's stepped off to the side, but is listening.

I'm surprised, because most guys won't touch ice skating if it's not hockey. At least, not in a club form.

Two of the girls write down their info on the sign-up sheet, and I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, smiling. Success. Lexi and I promised our club advisor that we'd get a hundred sign ups, which seems very ambitious to me. I think right now we're at thirty.

Make that thirty-two.

The girls drift away, and I look around but the guy from earlier has gone too. I can't say I blame him, looking around at the other tables. Most of the other clubs have cool stuff, like snacks or music or dogs (which is cheating, really) or, in one case, VR headsets. Granted, it is VR club.

The wind blows, and I slap a hand on the fliers before they blow away, but the sign-up sheet, which one of the girls must've pulled out of its clipboard, takes off. I follow it with my eyes as it swirls in the air, a blink of white amongst the orange leaves.

Crap.

I grab Lexi's skate, chuck it on the stack of fliers, and head towards the paper, which just hit someone's ankle but they just kept walking, and now it's under someone's boot, and I almost bump right into someone else, and for a moment I lose sight of it. I stare at the pavement, but it's just crumpled leaves.

"Hey."

It's the same voice, and I startle.

The boy that was at the table before is holding the sign-up sheet, a small smile on his lips. It's enough to make me think he planned this.

"Oh, thanks," I say, but he's not offering me the paper.

He holds it at his side. "It was at Lucky L's, by the way," he says. And those words conjure a flash of images: his dreadlocks, a handful of playing cards, my friend Brie and a bottle of wine.

I press a hand to my eyes, temporarily mortified. Lucky L's, or Lucky Library, is what everybody calls the basement floor of the main student library. It's all archives and study tables and dark corners, and all the upperclassmen have stories of 'getting lucky' down there.

It's a good place to take a break from studying, contrary to other parts of the library, and my friends and I have visited once or twice. Not entirely sober. But we just like to go to chat and play cards.

I don't know why this guy was there that night though.

"I'm sorry, yeah, ok. I remember we played Hearts?"

He nods once. "Do you have a pen?"

Someone bumps my shoulder, and I step backwards to avoid being mulled by a group of Frisbee golf guys. He takes a step towards me in response. "Why?" I ask, a swirl of leaves building around us.

He points at the sign-up sheet, still in his hand. "Your spiel convinced me. I just ran into a friend and was gonna come back to sign up. Until the list found me, anyway."

"Right." I lead him back to the table, where no one is waiting, unsurprisingly. He picks up a pen and scribbles his name, and I try not to seem too obvious as I lean in to see what he writes.

Brad.

I lean back, pretending I never looked. Brad?

When I glance back at him, he's silently laughing. "You should see your face. My name's Amir, actually," he says, filling out a new line on the form.

Embarrassed again, I laugh and chew my thumbnail, a nervous habit I picked up from my mom. "Right. Good."

His eyes flit up at me, that nice warm brown, like the trees. "You shouldn't do that," he says, a faint smile still on his face.

"What?" He's looking at my mouth and my insides all turn upside down so suddenly I think I might need to sit down.

His smile just grows, and he lets the silence linger long enough for me to nervously raise a hand, about to chew my fingernail again.

"Your hands have glitter on them, and it's on your lip," he says, setting the pen down on the table.

I drop my hands and look at them. Shit, I forgot. I rub at my bottom lip with the back of my hand, which is glitter-free. I'm almost afraid to look at him. "Right, thanks. And thanks for signing up," I tell him, wondering where I can go find a mirror.

I notice he hasn't moved. "I hope I'll see you at club..." He sticks his hand out, his eyes flicking between the glitter on my hands and the glitter on my face.

I should be embarrassed still, but I smile and hesitantly reach out my hand. "Shani," I tell him, taking his hand.

He gives me a firm handshake. "I hope I'll see you at club, Shani," he says, then lets go.

I nod. He steps away, shoes crackling on the fall leaves, but looks back at me and waves. His hand shimmers with glitter.

You know what I'm realizing? None of us were happy. Not ever, not once. We were all miserable, all the time, from the very beginning.

We reminisce on the old days because we weren't as miserable, nobody but a few of us had experienced immediate friends or family death before. We could still lie to ourselves and say that our drinking was normal, our drug use was normal, and our lifestyle was normal.

We could still say fuck it, I'll take care of that tomorrow. We still had a lot left to experience and do in life, and we didn't think it was going to suck just yet.

But happy? No, the emptiness in each of our eyes glinted like a reverse hallmark card. We all saw it in each other, and knew. I think that's what kept us together as long as it has, did, and will. I think that's what society fails to grasp about anyone that isn't them or doesn't fit into the narrative required of us to line up and dress right dress to.

Sometimes one person's normal is the opposite, and we are those opposites. The ones that have to stay quiet or lie when someone asks us if we're okay, or how we met someone, or what makes us friends. We know, but we never talk about it because the stigma of silence spreads beyond the public spaces and into the closed doors where we would drown our sorrows until we could let a mismanaged sliver of the shit that was burning us alive out of our souls.

We reminisce on the old days, because we had people to reminisce with.

Including ourselves.

The emptiness that bonded us together has managed to kill nearly every single person in a 6 block radius, has managed to put us into shitty relationships with shitty people consistently, has thrown us into association with the most slippery of shit bags that exist who we thought were our friends until we needed them most and found ourselves abandoned.

Then we would always come back to each other, and then one day we couldn't.

Must be nice bonding over anything that isn't the only thing that you can think about because everyday it fucking eats you alive.

You want to tell somebody so bad, but you've experienced so much negative feed back when you do or have.. that all you have is that shitty yet fucking beautiful glint of damage, hopelessness, and the fractured emptiness in eyes that in a few short years will close forever... If you're lucky.

If you're like me, you look around and suffocate in front of a room in your apartment, a hometown street, a local bar, or bodega full of ghosts. The emptiness consumes you, and you destroy yourself some more but now? Now you're all alone.

I miss you guys. SM - SE - KE - MM - MS - D - and the one who got away.