17/30 - Tied Up

He cracked as he moved, sounding like a fireplace. Popping softly, brittle matches stuffed into every joint. Each step brought him closer to me. I was handcuffed to the radiator. I didn’t know where I was or how such a frail old man had the strength to capture me like this. The room was old and looked abandoned. Piles of newspapers gathered in the corners, rustling with mice. One of my eyes was swollen shut and the other one was blurry. I looked up at the old man as he came closer. He held a tray of tea which he placed just out of my reach and sat down with painful, slow effort.

“Hello Jeremy” he sighed. “Do I look familiar?”

I’d been testing the strength of the handcuffs. Either my enhanced strength wasn’t working or the radiator’s mooring was reinforced. I looked at him with my good eye and snarled, trying to give him the sense of a dangerous animal.

He laughed. “Oh, very good, Jeremy. Very good.”

I was worried that he kept calling me Jeremy. That wasn’t my name. Mentally I reached for my name and found nothing.

A shot of panic rustled through me when I realized that most of my memory was a void.

“Yes, yes, by now you’re realizing that you’re not altogether altogether, are you? You’re here but you’re not really here, eh?” He laughed softly. “Yes, well, that sort of combat will do it to you. Tea?”

I lashed out with my foot at the old man’s tea set but came up short. Something gave way in my shoulder and I shrieked with pain like an animal. I immediately felt embarrassed at crying out.

“Jeremy, Jeremy, listen. Look. You almost spilled the tea there. It’s going to take weeks for your memory to come back. All you need to know right now is that I’m your friend. We’ve trained you and sent you out into combat and now you’re back. No one will find you here.”

I glared at him. I was more scared than before but I found the sound of his voice comforting. My instincts were all I had right now. I didn’t trust him but I did think that he was an ally. I’d never been in a situation like this before.

He stood to leave with the sound of toothpicks being broken, muffled popcorn, and twisting celery.

“I was like you, Jeremy. And you’ll get through this.” He nudged the tea closer. “You better drink this before it gets cold.”

He walked towards the door. Just before he left, he turned back to me.

“We won, you know. We won because of you. No one’ll ever know but I wanted to tell you that.”

He shuffled off down the hall until I couldn’t see him anymore.

I stared at the tea, debating whether to drink any.




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18/30 - Come Inside

Sure, come live inside of me. It’s not unlike a seal’s mouth. The ghost of wine-glass weekends with smooth skin and not a lot of talking stud my trachea with pepper. Look out for the growing crystals. I’m unsure if they’re diamonds or cancer or salt. Keep in mind that it’s all collateral damage in here when a gun goes off. It’s all hit. There’s no miss. So be careful.

See how perfectly preserved the fingernails are. You can still see the wrinkles on those hands. It’ll all come to powder if you touch it but it’s like the tendons sank into the quicksand weeks ago instead of centuries.

And here is what I’ve always mistaken for love. It’s the close-up of a fly’s face. The eyes see several thousand different kinds of affection, each of them in only one direction. Its mouth parts want to kiss and its hair is like guitar wire. It’ll want to talk to you about math. Probably best to keep moving.

Ignore the dueling pelicans.

As you explore, I’ve heard that you will find a glade of cherry blossom canopy oasis branches spreading shade and summer evenings near a clear stream. It’ll reek of flowers and it’s the kind of grass you could roll around on naked. Please let me know if you find it.

This pit here contains the skeletons of two people that were married for a long time. As you can see, they have antlers and are wearing jewelry. The seashells suggest that this entire area here was once an ocean.

That bridge rising out of the fog is the way out.

You’re welcome back here whenever you want to return.




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