Anthropophagy

"You can't have him," she said.

"Why would I care about having him?" almost laughing.

"Why fight me then?"

"Because I don't fucking like you."

"Because I stole him from you."

"You wish," I snort. "I don't like you because you're a lying slut cunt who has hurt one of my friends and will hurt another."

"You don't even know about that. You don't know anything."

"I don't know that you were engaged while living with my friend? Telling both of them that you were pregnant. What more should I know? And what pisses me off a little more is that you pulled that shit  on Jack. You know his father just died. Why the fuck do you have to do that?"

"I am pregnant right now."

"All the more reason to end your existence."

"You know that means I'm going to fight harder," she said, determined.

"Good, I look forward to a challenge."

I crouch,  looking at her over my kama. She holds her dagger tightly, waiting for me to pounce first. But in this I have the ultimate patience. I will wait for her to come to me. I will wait for her to trip.

"What are you waiting for?!" she cries.

"You," I whisper behind a smile.

She lunges. She tries to stab me. I push her hand away with my left kama and I push her chest back with the right. She stumbles back in disbelief.  She readies herself and leans in the charge again. She runs up to me, trying to cut me from her right side. I spin around her left side, cutting her abdomen gingerly. She turns around to look at me, infuriated by her sticky shirt.

"What the fuck? I'm the good guy, I'm supposed to win!"

"Tut tut young one. You are neither good nor are you going to win."

She runs at me again with the dagger above her head. I push up her right wrist with my left kama and jab her in the throat with my right.

"You aren't even learning from your mistakes."

"FOR MY SON," she yells as she charges me again.

I spin the kama in my left hand so the blade is on the inside and I spin the blade on my right kama to face downward. When she charged, I had my arms crossed so when I smacked the dagger from her hand, I also smacked her in the face. She landed to the floor, crying.

"Why are you toying with me?"

"Toying with you? Darling, I would be hurting you much more if I wanted you as a toy. You wouldn't be able to speak, so on and so forth. I was hoping you would have more fight in you. I was hoping you would think you had more to live for."

"But you know how to fight. This match is uneven."

"I have had no training with these weapons. I want to live. And I want to live more than I want you dead."

"Jack will come looking for me."

"Good for him. I already called him and told him we were going to dinner to hash out our differences. "

"Instead, here we are."

"Oh no. Dinner has been arranged for after our duel."

"I don't understand."

I smirked and kicked the knife back to her. She picked it up and looked at me for the first time, trying to find a weakness. It seemed she settled on a point and charged again. I spun around her and grabbed her throat with my kama as I was spinning. It sliced through her papyrus skin. I stood behind her and with my right kama at her throat, I pulled her back by her neck. With my left, I hacked at her knife wrist.

"Do you have any last words?"

"You have no idea how much I love Jack. I wouldn't keep Kalib if I didn't love Jack," she cried.

"You're wrong. I have known that love." I pull my left kama up to her neck above the right one and I kick her in the back, forcing her through both blades. She falls down to the ground, her arteries and veins pumping out all her blood through her neck.

I roll her over, cut open her stomach and pulled out an organ. I bite into it. It pops in my mouth, filling it with blood. I swallow and laugh. I look back at her face. She is wide-eyed and trying to scream as the last bit of fear evaporates.

"Not yet, baby! You'll miss me eating you out! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA."

-Kiz

Metal

     He stands behind me holding the knife to my throat with his right hand. With his left on my hip, he kisses the back of my neck.

     “You're going to be a good girl, aren't you?” he whispers in my ear.

I stay quiet in defiance, and his left hand jerks up to my hair, pulling my head back.

     “I said 'Aren't you'?”

     “Yes,” I whisper, my blood pumping so strongly, he could probably see my veins jumping through my skin.

      He pulls the knife down, across my chest, breathing heavily. I exhale deeply as my eyes flutter closed. The tip of the knife pokes into my hip and I can feel him spin it. Cold metal wraps around my wrists and is pulled up. I hear a click, and a smile grows across my face.

     I open my eyes and the knife pops off the bottom button of my shirt. It falls to the floor and is forgotten. The next button drops and is forgotten. Dropped; forgotten. Dropped; forgotten. Dropped; forgotten.

His knife touches my clavicle and slides under my bra strap. A red line appears across my pale flesh. The strap snaps and is closely followed by the other side.

     “One hand,” I say coyly looking him in the eyes. His mud/golden eyes staring back with a dark fury, he reaches around to my back and unclasps with two fingers. As my bra falls to the floor, his knife finds it's way under my skirt to my underwear. I chose boy shorts with bows in the front. Blue bows, the color of persuasion. He slowly cuts through each bow until my underwear falls as well.

     He takes a step back to look at what is before him; A girl with eager eyes wearing a short black skirt, an opened red cardigan and 3 inch heals, handcuffed to a chain attached to the ceiling.

     He walks around and kneels behind me, spreading my ass so he can see my holes. The anticipation of any sensation is driving me insane.

     “Just do something!” I plead.

     I can feel him smirk as he holds me open, yet doing nothing. Then faintly, I feel the movement of air across my sensitive skin. My knees fall weak, pulling on the metal restraining my wrists. I wince at the pain and stand up again. I know he's got that smirk on his face, the one that says he's winning. I feel something lightly poke my asshole and then swirl around as if in a whirlpool and it was being sucked in.

     “So sit back and enjoy the crash” plays softly in the distance. Matt Skiba's voice amplifying my senseless lust. It seems miles away, my entire focus on receiving any sensation message from my genitals. My brain avidly searching for any variance in speed or pressure. Just as I felt like he would continue with the same pattern forever, I feel half his finger inside me. I gasp, closely followed is cold goo. His finger moves outside my body and when returned, is encased in the moderately cooler goo. It stops, completely. Just a singular finger inside me, not moving. It drives me insane; my brain exploding with sensation and excitement. What will his next move be? How does anyone have this much patience? I just fucking want his dick inside me. I want to feel full of him. I want to squeeze around him. And yet, the denial makes me more ravenous, more aggressive and willing to prod him.

    “That only does so much,” I say, my voice betraying my lust. I can feel his fucking smirk again. His smirk that betrays his intentions. The smirk the says he knows he is driving me fucking insane. God, I want to suffocate that smirk right off his fucking face.

     As if he can read my thoughts, his entire face is pressed firmly against me, his tongue forcing it's way into my vagina.

     “Holy fucking goddamn yes,” I mutter as my knees once again weaken and this time I relish the metal against my wrists. I let myself hang as my brain thoroughly focuses on his body's interaction with mine. I wish I had some sort of control because I would never let him remove his face.

     And just as I'm really adoring him on his knees behind me, he completely removes himself. I growl maliciously, and before my guttural threat could be completed, I feel something shoved in my vagina. I look between my legs and I see a nineteen inch blade hanging between my legs.

     “I'd advise you not to close your legs,” he states as if he were simply telling someone the temperature outside. “I sharpened this blade myself and I know it's pretty sharp so, if you close your legs... you'll cut yourself. Now, you can't cum until I see your lust dripping from the tip.”

     18 inches to go, and he kisses me deeply. He kisses me as if to tell me everything he has ever felt in his life was for me. Every girl he had ever seen naked only prepared him for me; every girl he made cum was only practice for this moment. He nibbled my neck and whispered all the things that were to follow.

“Oh you're already half way there. Let's see if the actual acts themselves will bring you where you want to go.”

     THAT FUCKING SMIRK. That smirk had me, and I wished my hands weren't bound to the ceiling so I could choke that fucking smirk off his face. As much as I wished that, I could see his forearms and knew if I tried, his grip would kill me first.

     He crouched down a little and started biting my nipples. I wanted to cry out in pain but there was a particular way his tongue touched my nipples just before and after he bit them that made me want him to continue. After a couple minutes I could feel that fucking smirk of his lips grazing against my skin.

     I reached to touch his jaw and I was stopped by my restraints. I pulled hard against them a few times in a row but saw that it was getting me nowhere. I needed to touch him and I couldn't, so I resorted to prodding him.

     “Can't handle my hands... have to immobilize me so you can do what you want?”

     I received no acknowledgment and it drove me more insane. How can you kneel before me and not heed a word I say!!! I felt his tongue playing with my clit. I couldn't help myself but to whimper in desperation at this point. His tongue was playing with the most sensitive part of my body. Once, I growled, he growled and HOLY FUCK did the vibration jumble my fucking brain. He turned my growl into a cry for help. It felt so good, I couldn't believe it was real and once I began to feel more comfortable with it, he changed his path.

     “I don't like how easily you get wet and enjoy things,” he said quietly in my ear. “I barely did a thing to you and you have dripped down 18 inches of steel. Next time, you won't drip so easily for me. I assure you.”

     He pulled the machete from my cunt and inserted himself, playing with my clitoris while he held me up to pump all of his rage into. I came just before he did, loving every second I squeezed his dick with myself, yet not taming him.

“Next time, you'll cum twice as hard after dripping at least more 5 more inches.”

-Kiz

Classical Violin

     I sit, chained to this chair, my head spinning. The room seems as if I drank too much last night and I still need to sleep it off. It keeps spinning around in the drab brown color. Wait, there is a bed, covered in gold. An armior a bright, less brown. It's so hard to tell colors with the room spinning. I smell something familiar: Nag Champa. Is it known or did I tell? Did I get too drunk and let my favorite scent be known? It reminds me of the times I spent secluded in a basement, as my ultimate wish. The times I used to chose to spend time alone in my basement. But of course, with the ultimate wish comes the ultimate sacrifice. I was alone... more alone than I imagined I would be. Left to video games and music... art of artists past. I shut myself in and down.

     But, alas, this was not the same. I was here now against my will. One or some would say as a consiquence, others, less knowledgable, would say against. I sit here on trial... with my hands duct taped to a chair behind my back. My eyes, looking for something not brown and failing. My ears listening for a sound other than a creak, listening for a voice; listening for something of substance so I can understand where I am. I fail and live in a world of circles and confusion until finally, I hear footsteps coming down stairs. God blessed footsteps. Footsteps of salvation! A sound other than creaking and thus a human being. Someone who was making their way somewhere to do something. A sound with purpose.

     "Do you have some thing to say?"

     "I'm sorry."

     "Fuck your 'I'm sorry.' I've heard THAT before and this time I won't accept it. You're so EASY to overcome and I refuse to believe I can do so this quickly. SO, do you have something to say?"

*

     I walk into a room and see him. He was looking around at the people there with disgust on his face. We're at a party and he looks like he doesn't want to be there. Then he sees me. As I noticed his head moving towards my direction, I pretended not to notice. I pretended to be focused on something else, intently. But I noticed. The look on his face when he first saw me; like he was seeing a unicorn, something impossible. I took my time introducing myself to everyone there, purposely leaving him for last. Before, I make it to him, I need a refill on my beer. I look at him straight on for the first time since he walked through the door, smile at him as if to say 'catch me if you can,' and leave the room to fetch the beer.

     I open the fridge and select my poison, I hear him enter the kitchen. I stand up straight, and turn around to greet him. He's about half a foot taller than me, brown hair, brown eyes, beard, and smells heavily of body spray.

     “Coors Light, huh?” he scoffed.

     “Judge all you want; it keeps me from getting too drunk no matter how much of it I drink, plus I've never gotten a hangover from it. Being here around people I've never met before, like yourself, a girl can't be too careful.” I raise an eye brow at him, asking him to counter my logic.

     “Not knowing where you are when you wake up is half the fun.”

*

     "You're a piece of shit and beneath me. I only liked you because of the attention."

     "Now, now. I already knew you thought that. SO, it seems we shall keep this going until you can properly explain yourself."

     "I've JUST told you how I feel! How can you tell me I'm not properly explaining myself?!"

     "Simple, you're either lying or telling me what you think I want to hear. Either way, I am not satisfied and I will see you tomorrow."

     He walked up the stairs, the only sounds I heard that were human in... hours... days? The darkness and hysteria were making it difficult to make out how much time I've missed. Were the windows blackened? Was I actually drugged? I black out thinking about who I told Nag Champa was my favorite scent to.

*

     The scent of cooked meat catches my attention and wakes me up. I feel like I haven't eaten in months... The smell dancing between my nostrils and curling itself into my brain. My mouth watering and my lungs sucking in the sweet scent of food. My stomach aches with the rememberance of it's fill. My eyes flitter open at the hope that this isn't a dream. I see him holding a plate. Oh my god, a plate full of hotdogs on buns with ketchup.

     "Here is something you haven't smelled in a while.... meat," he says, slyly.

     "No, I haven't," I reply, weakly.

     "Would you like some?"

     "If I could have one of those hot dogs, I would last as your slave for who knows how much longer? You could keep me down here as long as you like on one hot dog a week. I expend no energy sitting here so..."

     "YOU ARE NOT MY SLAVE."

     "Sure feels like it."

     "Which goes to show how much you understand. I will let you eat A hot dog so perhaps you can gain back your senses and really understand your place here."

     He fed me a hot dog hastily, and retreated upstairs. So that I was once again left alone. Left alone with my thoughts as to why I was down here compared to my job and dreams or lack of. Was that it? I lacked dreams and so made do with whatever poor boy who didn't like his mother and I made a promise of more?

     I wake with the room spinning once more. This time I wonder if it is simply me or the music playing. Something that sounds classical but speaks more to my horror... so much more modern? It is a violin that sounds comforting and yet terrifying? The rise and fall of something sweet and unGodly sinful. As soon as I feel comforted by the calm of the violin, it strikes up again as though there is an unknown protagonist willing to end me. It pervades my senses. Makes me really question why I am in this chair... duct taped to it?

     "Do you feel it?"

     "I feel all of it."

     "No, you don't."

     "Yes! Do I feel it... was the question."

     "NO! Do you feel ALL of it? The ascension, the climax, and the decension?"

     "Yes, I feel the whole tale."

     "Stop lying to me. I've been watching you, girl. You only feel the climax. You only see what you want to see."

     "Then take the rest from me! If that is all I have!"

     "No, you must feel it all! The rise and the decensions. You must feel the whole story. Yes you feel your part, but do you feel mine? Do you feel the vibrations in your chair? Do you feel the vibrations of the world? The PAIN of the world? No! You only feel the ebb and flow of your own pain. You claim understanding. Which is what drove me to you. but you don't... You fucking liar-"

     "I may be a slut but I am not a liar."

     "Say that again, girl."

     "I MAY BE A SLUT BUT I AM NOT A LIAR."

     "If you weren't, I wouldn't have fallen in love with you. You are a spinner of stories instead of fabric... you would have done better with old housewives tales as you were sewing dresses for queens in the middle ages. You do lie. Maybe not to those around you but to yourself. STOP LYING TO YOURSELF. What do you want?"

     "I DON'T KNOW. I don't know," I finish with a whimper. "I don't know."

     "Then how can you claim undying love for another? You clearly don't love yourself."

     The familiar steps of a person ascending a staircase reach my ears once more. Crying, I lower my head again. It hasn't even begun and I know this. A kitten, with it's nose rubbed in it's own shit is what I am. And at last, someone's done it. Someone has finally put me in my place. I watch the last sliver of light disappears as a door closes.

*

     "Why are you here?"

     "Because I failed."

     "Failed to do what?"

     "It's not what I failed to do... but what I fail to be..."

     "And what did you fail to be?"

     "Anything I said I would. Strong and intelligent. Faithful, and loving. I sit here before you as the skeleton of what I promised, and I can't even promise you that anymore... I have failed myself as well as you so I can't imagine why you would take the effort to go through this..."

     "You have no idea what you posses." He started un-duct taping my hands from behind the chair. My skin felt itchy where the tape had been. As I sit in the chair, confused and rubbing my wrists, he pulls out a knife. "Go over to the bed."

     "Is this the part where you rape me?"

     He laughs and points to the bed with the knife. I walk over and lay down, staring at the ceiling. More brown. I close my eyes and feel him lays beside me.

     "What you want is a release. You want something to take the pain away... to keep you numb. So do it."

     "Do what?"

     "Cum."

     "What?"

     "You heard me: cum."

     I furrow my brow. Just like that? He's ordering me to orgasm? I feel the knife at my throat and he whispers "cum" into my ear. His breath hits my ear canal and vibrates delicately into my brain; sending a slight jolt down my sciatic nerve. Involuntarily, I exhale and then inhale through gritted teeth. The knife pressed harder against the naked flesh of my neck, and I slowly pull down my leggings and my underwear. He breathes on my collarbone, and the goosepimples rise. My right middle finger finds my clitoris and moves in slow, small circles. The knife scrapes up from my neck under my chin. I push my head back into the pillow with my mouth open. It all builds and builds until finally I orgasm.

     As I'm laying there, he asks me "What's different?"

     "About what?" I smile lazily at him.

     "About everything. What's different about you or your surroundings or me?"

     I looked around me. Brown. The same fucking brown; and nothing about him had changed. He was exactly the same. When I turned the inner eye, I realized that I was as well. The only thing that had changed was the moistness between my legs, and that the bed now had a wet spot. It. was. all. the. same.

     He laughed then because he saw in my eyes that I was coming to this conclusion, and losing my grasp on whatever reality I had created. Hope was draining from me. There is no escape from pain. Only momentary reprieves which are almost worse than the pain itself.

     "PROGRESS!" He seemed so pleased with himself. He grabbed my hand and pulled me up off the bed; leading me to the chair where I was bound once again. He walked up and out, laughing, while leaving me to the crushing darkness and crumbling reality.

*

     I think of the first time we met now, but I see for the first time how selective I was in feeling his emotions. How I'm always selective about what I feel. My cycles of self torment and narcissism. He was right, I don't feel it all because I choose not too.

     The door opens and he approaches me, with his knife out again. This time he cuts through the tape instead of unbinding me. He gives me a ham and cheese hot pocket to eat. I enjoy it. Once I finish, I sit on the edge of the bed and look at him. Really look. I realize then that he must have been taking care of me. I watch his knife more carefully as he walks over and stands in front of me.

     I have been thinking about this since the last time he came down and taught me that nothing changes.

     I stand up, and kiss him. He spits in my face, pushing me back to sit on the bed. I lean forward with my face on his stomach. Then I grab his hand with the knife and push my chest onto it. I've given a lot of thought on where I want my death wound to be and my heart seems most appropriate.

     The pain is blinding, more black. My clothes soak quickly and he pushes me to lay on the bed; off of him and off his knife.

     "You stupid bitch! Why would you do that?"

     "Because I've felt the beginning and middle. It is now time to... feel... the..."

The Leaving

     I wake him up to hug him before leaving for work. Not because I want to, but because he has a problem with me leaving without telling him I love him. He drowsily hugs me back, still laying in bed.

     “Do you want me to hug you?” I ask tentatively, mostly because I didn't want to hug him.

     “What do you mean?” He asks, suddenly awake.

     “Well, last night we talked for hours and we went to bed angry at each other.”

     “Of course I want you to hug me. Do you not want to?”

     “I don't have time for this, I need to get to work.”

     “No, what do you mean?”

     “I have work, I'll be back in a couple hours and we can continue talking.”

I leave the room and take a left down the short hallway past the bathroom and another left to descend the stairs. I hear him yell from the room.

     “Fine, leave. Fuck you.” I fucking am, I thought in response. “No, you know what? You can't fucking leave!”

     As I was turning around, with laughter still in my throat and only about a third of the way down the stairs, I began to say “Watch-” I was cut off by a hand clenching my throat and lifting me up the stairs. I grab his wrist in an attempt to pull it off but he is stronger than me. He pulled me back into the bedroom and threw me on the bed. He climbed on top of me, and sat on my chest, but holding his weight off of me. I tried to punch him, but he held my wrists down with his knees.

     “What's your fucking problem?”

     “I need to get to work.”

     “You aren't going to work.”

     “Work is a legitimate obligation-”

     “THIS IS REAL LIFE, COURTNEY. I'M RIGHT HERE. TALK TO ME.”

     “This IS real life, and I need to get to work. I'm already going to be late.”

     “WHY CAN'T YOU SHUT UP AND BE HAPPY? WHY CAN'T YOU JUST BE HAPPY?” he asks with his hand across my face. Even if I could respond to him, I wouldn't have been able to. I don't have an answer for that other than 'you don't know me. I can't be happy if I shut up.' I looked into his deranged eyes and hoped I could make that thought pop up in his head. I realized at this point that I couldn't breath. His hand was covering my mouth, pressing down on my face, and his hand was big enough to cover my nose. I started shaking my head and trying to tell him I couldn't breathe. He pulled his hand away and I thought it was because he knew he was suffocating me, but he started slapping me.

     “I'M GOING TO KILL YOU, COURTNEY. I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU.”

     It sparked something in me. Maybe it was that point that he was screaming and slapping me in the face that I realized he was completely serious. He took everything too seriously, but if he wants to threaten me, he better have some balls.

     “Go ahead and fucking do it, you pussy.” I respond looking him straight in the eye, showing him no fear. The shock spreads across his face and his body loosens in disbelief. I'm not sure, even now, if his disbelief was at himself or at me, but I took advantage of his weakness.

     I slipped out from under him, rolled onto the floor and jumped up quickly. I got my phone and keys out of my pocket. I held my keys so that each key was poking out between my fingers when I made a fist in my right hand (my punching hand.) I put my phone in my left hand, just because it was the only thing I could think of to put in my hand to make a punch hurt. I pulled the computer chair between us, and bent my knees to assume a defensive position. Once he saw that I was ready to defend myself against him, his rage rose again.

     He stood up off the bed and started charging me from across the room. I prepared my mind for what I assumed was an oncoming battle. I would most definitely have to fight my way out of this. In split seconds, my brain had run through various scenarios in which I could draw attention to myself so that someone would call for help. I was thinking about smashing windows, and the probability of making it to the door. If I made it to the door, I could run into the street screaming, and at least 3 neighbors would call the cops. Especially if they saw him drag me back in the house. It was a good area, and the neighbors were family.

He was charging at me and the closer he got, the clearer my mind became. I started thinking about all his soft spots and how quick I would have to be to move in order to hurt him before he could hurt me. He reached the chair and threw it across the room, where it hit the wall loudly. This is fucking it, I thought, the time is now. 

     But the time was not now.

     After he threw the chair, he fell to his knees and wailed the sorrow song of someone who lost everything they were trying to hold onto. He crawled to me, still crying and hugged my legs. I was confused and just stared at him, emotionless.

     “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

     I had no response. I had no idea what he was apologizing for.

     “Please don't leave. Don't leave.”

     I continue to stand, dumbfounded. I've already left. I've been gone. And when we discuss anything, I run further and further from him. I look down to see him mourning and his wet eyes plead with me. I feel nothing looking at him.

     “Let me call out of work.”

     The phone rings, and when my manager answers I vaguely tell her I can't come into work because my partner won't let me leave.

     “Do I need to call the cops?”

     “No, I'm leaving. We don't need to get the cops involved. I don't fear him. I pity him, but I need to pull away from him myself. I'm really sorry I can't get to work today. I promise this will never happen again.”

     “Keep in touch, I'm gonna worry about you,”

     “I'll text you, I promise.”

     I hang up and call my best friend. “He hit me just now. I need to leave and not come back. Would it be possible for me to stay where you are?”

     “Absolutely. For as long as you need. Be safe. I love you.”

     “I will be, I love you, too.”

     That done, he walks outside and asks me if I told anyone what had just happened.

     “Of course I did.”

     “Why would you do that? Is anyone calling the cops?”

     “I told them because that's what happened. And I asked them to not call the cops because I've got this handled. You do know that I'm leaving though, right?”

     “You were gone before you started walking down the stairs. I know that now. I was just trying to keep you with me. I love you and I want you with me.”

     “You don't want me. I wither with you. You tell me to be myself but when I am myself you chastise me for not 'acting right.' So I'm convinced you love the idea of me. I'm everything you aren't. You want me to be me but when I'm social, you worry about me having sex with other people. You put that out into the universe. I don't. I have errant thoughts about whether I would have sex with someone or not but only because you ask me not to fuck them. I married you and I told you that was forever. I also tried to tell you how unhappy I was, but you didn't listen to me-”

     “You never told me why you were unhappy!”

     “Because I didn't know why! But now I know it's because I can't be me. I'm tired of trying to convince you of anything. You believe what you want and you need a girl that is happy sitting in your room like a good girl.”

     I began to collect my things and put them in the car. He argued with me about me taking the car.

     “That's my car! It's registered in my name and so is the insurance.”

     “I bought that car AND paid for the insurance on it for a year. My money. My car. Fight me for it.”

     “That's not fair! I sold my other car to move out to Idaho to be with you!”

     “That's not my fault. You chose to do that. You could have kept your car. You were the one who sold it.   You could have driven it to me. You did say you don't like flying.”

     “It was an '88 Oldsmobile, and it was falling apart.”

     “We drove 2,500 miles in an '86 Cutlass Ciera that was literally falling apart. Stop making excuses.”

     “We changed the oil and tires before we left and kept enough gas in it.”

     “All things you could have done.”

     Once I was done collecting my clothes, shoes, cd's, dvd's and various trinkets I've had since childhood, we went out to the shed to smoke one last bong together. He started to cry after a few minutes of normal conversation.

     “What's wrong?”

     “This is it. This is the end. You're leaving and we were just starting to have fun together.”

     “You're forgetting I've been gone.”

     “I know, but at least I could pretend. Now, there is only facing the truth. It fucking hurts.”

     “Of course it fucking hurts. I love you. I don't want to leave, I need to. We aren't good for each other.”

     “I can't be alone, you don't understand that. I'm afraid of being alone.”

     “Me too but sometimes that's necessary. You told me that you want me to be me, I need to find me first to know.”

     “You knew who you were when we met...”

     “And then your jealously and pressure changed me. Or, that's not right, that's blaming you. I don't mean to blame you, I changed to make you happy. That was also not right. I just need to go.”

-Kiz