The Box

 The story doesn't begin where you think it should. It begins twelve years ago in the middle of the night during a dream by a boy named Josef. He wakes up at 3:27a.m., disturbed by what he's seen and unable to sleep. He remains awake and sees the sunrise. He writes the dream down on a piece of paper and puts it in the box on the shelf in his closet. He falls asleep for an hour before his mom comes to wake him up. It's Saturday morning. "Wake up, Sleepyhead." His eyes open just enough to see his mother is wearing a green sweater, the same one that once belonged to his Grandmother. "Did you sleep well last night?" He looks toward the closet and his eyes pause there for a moment. "Yes, Mom." That's how it all began.

The years went by and it would feel like he had forgotten all about the dream. In that lull of memory, it would race back like a wave crashing onto the shore. He would close his eyes, focus his breathing, and try to move on. On and on it went this way for many years. The box moved with him when he left his parent's house and went to college in a neighboring state. It would move to his first apartment the city over from his parents at his first real job after graduation. In his thirties he married Marcia. The box moved in, too.

Marcia and Josef had two children, Jane, and Eberly. The girls were as joyous and full of life as they could have hoped for. They had all the usual fears The box, as much as he wished to forget it, he could not. He couldn't bear the thought of his wife and daughters reading the page in the box and destroying everything. The fear grew like the grey hairs in his hair and beard.

The cursed dream had haunted him for most of his life. He had never burdened another soul with the knowledge on the page. 

One week Marcia asked him if it would be ok for her to take the girl's for the weekend to her aunt's house in Brighton. He agreed, but only on the condition he stay home that weekend to work on repairs around the house he'd been meaning to get to. She grudgingly agreed.

That Friday, as Marcia, Jane, and Eberly, were about to leave, he hugged them tighter than usual, told them just how much he loved them. He kissed Marcia with a tenderness she hadn't felt since they first started dating. She looked into his eyes and said, "It's only the weekend. We'll be home before you know it. The girls took turns saying "Bye, Daddy" as he hugged them.

He watched the car drive down the street beneath a sky so deeply orange that it could have been another color.

He slept fitfully that first night and dreamt. In bed, the room dark like a moonless midnight, a crushing weight bore down on his chest. He couldn't breath. He couldn't open his mouth to cry out. He could feel its eyes in the void, gazing down at him, laughing, mocking him in a language no man has heard.

It was a dream. It was a bad dream. It was a very bad dream. That's all it was. He told himself that over and over when he woke up, until he was ready to get out of bed and do the work. 

Marcia called midday to check in. The girls said hi to their Daddy and just how much they missed him at their aunt's house. He told Marcia he loved her. She told him she loved him back. When they got off the phone she could feel a knot growing in her belly. 

Later that Saturday afternoon, after having replaced the burned out bulbs in the recessed lighting, mowed the lawn with old mower, and pulled the weeks, he decided to have lunch on the back deck with a beer and a couple of slices of leftover pizza from two nights ago. The clouds had grown a dark pregnant grey and appeared to be growing darker. After just a couple of minutes, the first heavy drops began to fall with pummeling splats. He went inside and latched the sliding door shut. He turned on the lights in the living room and sat to finish his meal.

It was strange for such a heavy rain to fall. The forecast hadn't said anything about rain. What must have rain been like on a tropical and ancient earth, he wondered? Was it anything like this? 

He wasn't sure if it was the peal of thunder he heard first, or the bolt of lightning scarring the horizon he noticed first. The lights flickered and steadied. "It's ok", he thought, though he had his doubts.

Suddenly, the house shook, and the lights flickered into darkness. He wanted to run, but where? He knew he could not escape. He grabbed the flashlight from the kitchen and went to the garage. He stood before the box, while the sound of the pelting rain filled the world outside. Was it reading his thoughts? His body began to feel electric, the hairs raising all over his skin. Finally, finality.

The firefighters told Marcia it was a million to one shot that the lightning would strike him in the garage. Almost everything had been charred except for a couple of boxes.

Final Scarcity

My old memories will be of little use to you in your search for water.
Even now, after all these years, it's still hard for me to fathom how far
we have fallen in my life. Water was so plentiful as to be absurd. You
could open a faucet in your home and it would pour right out, as if that
is how things had always been in human history. We would buy plastic
bottles filled with water, we'd fill portable containers with it, we would
bathe in it any time we felt the urge to be clean. It was always there
until it wasn't. Everything fell into chaos once supplies became scarce.
There was so much suffering and death. To die of thirst is the most
excruciating sort of death. Men, women, children, all condemned to die
due to lack of a basic need. The rich and powerful gloated for some
time until their stores began to run dry. In the end, their wealth and
power were nothing without water. It was then that what little remained
of civilization collapsed. Now, water is life. Water is more valuable
than diamonds, gold, or oil, ever were. This world is bathed in thirst.
Some say our world is dying. I say that it is not. We are dying. The
world will be fine once it has rid itself of us. Perhaps that has been the
plan all along. Soon there will be none like me left who remember
the old world and the hubris of our decadence. Only those born in this
time of endless thirst will remain, and the old world will be reduced
to stories and fairy tales that will scarcely be believed. What ever did
we do to deserve such a fleeting paradise? Even my memory has begun
to fail me. I wonder at times how much of the past was ever real.
All of it, I think. Then doubt is cast. We could never have been so
foolish. Yet, foolishness is always in overabundance. I grow tired.
I want to close these old eyes and dream of water flowing over my
body without any thought of it ever eliding into scarcity.

The Escape

Hanna walked into my office unexpectedly
and said "We have to go. Now." Dumbfounded
at seeing her at my job, I just stared at her. Before
I could say anything she grabbed me by the arm
and started pulling me outside. My boss just watched
as we left. We raced to her car and strapped in.
"What's wrong? What's the matter?", I said.
"Just trust me on this one. Please." "Ok" I said.
She drove us as fast she could through the rush of
midday traffic. The streets and freeways were as
busy as ever. We'd listen to music every now
and then, or we'd just listen to the wind blowing
past the windows. As the city fell behind us she
began to relax just a little. But whatever it was,
I could feel we weren't quite in the clear yet.
We quickly pulled over to refuel at a gas station
where she filled up the tank as well as a few extra
cans of gas that she had in the trunk of the car.
We continued relentlessly onward, further and
further east, towards the desert. Eventually, the
Sun began to fall towards the horizon. We passed
a few of the desert cities and a couple of towns
until we largely became one of the only sounds.
Finally, after hours of driving, she pulled over
to a dirt road off the highway for another half
a mile. There was house there. A little worn
but it looked fine. When she parked in front
she finally let go of a massive sigh. "We're
good for now. We're safe as we're going to
be." I didn't even want to know at this point.
"It's gonna be for the best we try to not watch
the news for at least a few days. I think it's
about to get real ugly, real quick." I just nodded.
The sky was the kind of pastel pink that was
bleeding all across the canvas landscape.
Whatever danger was there was lurking some
place far away. It was silent. Only a slight
breeze touching the dry brush. We walked
inside and closed the door.

Morning Monologue

I woke up before she did so I made sure to not disturb
her as I got out of bed. Standing in our room I felt the
slight chill of a winter morning that had been staved off
by our bodies beneathe the sheets. The traces of light
that would become the dawn were making themselves
known. She was breathing softly and no doubt warmer
than myself. What was she dreaming? Even if she woke
up right then she might not remember or might not want
to say. I know that would have been the case with me. I
do not usually remember dreams but on occasion I do.
Our minds are ceaseless in their inventiveness and work.
But are dreams merely that? Are they truly just the mind
unbound playing self-generated films for us? Would it be
too strange to perhaps interpret these as visions of past
lives or other states of existence for which we have no
rational explanation? I surely don't have an answer for
that. She sleeps and dreams. I am awake and no longer
dreaming. What if we were merely lives caught in the
dream of some other sleeping being in the universe?
That might be a stretch but I cannot disprove it. Then
again, a rational mind has no need to worry but how
rational are we at any given time?

The Old Shack

He had just woken up from an overly long nap
and saw that it was almost 11p.m. That was
pretty much an entire Saturday evening gone.
Normally, he would just go to the bar down the
street for a few rounds to pass the time and talk
to the regulars but he was more broke than usual
this night. He put on shoes and a hoodie and got
in his car. He drove through the neighborhood
and started hitting the major streets. He inched
closer and closer to the beach. Next thing he
knew he was driving along the black coast.
The sound of unseen waves steady as a heart
beat on the sand. He loved this stretch of beach
late at night. Hardly anyone around to disturb
him. Just the steady pace of the car moving home
across the distances. Finally, the shore disappeared
from view as the road began to slope downward
towards a stoplight. He came to a stop and sat there
waiting for the light to turn. He passed a small beach
bar that looked modestly busy. It was called 'The
Beach Shack'. He passed it and continued on through
the neighborhood. He slowed down and parked his car
in front of an old bungalow. He looked at it for a moment
and began to think of all the times he had spent there
with Annie. All the times he had woken up next to her.
The hours spent in the living room and bedroom. The smells
of dinner wafting through the house. The soft padding of
their cat Candy back when she was still alive.
That was all gone. She was gone. Only he remained.
He decided he would drop by the shack tonight after all.

The Final Dream

Everything was on fire and the mountains were
shrouded by clouds of ash. People could not stand
the heat but had nowhere to go. People sweated
through their clothes and even the waters at the
beaches provided no relief. The sky was ashen
gray and the sun struggled to pierce the veil.
Daylight began to mimic night and people and
animals began to sleep fitfully. Time seemed as
though it was beginning to unspool but where
was it unspooling from? Minutes and hours
began to feel indistinct from one another. So
it seemed that everything was feeling apart.
Nothing could hold. The heat began to drive
people mad but everyone understood why.
Violence and crime began to infect every
where all at once as if it were a virus. Blood
shed on the streets and in homes. No place
was immune from this furious season. Yet
the tides at the beaches continues to come in
and out. The moon would occasionally peer
through from the sky and grow horrified at
what she could see. The sun grew indifferent
at what it had to witness. Some said it was
the end of times, that Jesus was about to
return but He never did. God gave no
booming proclamation from heaven to His
children. In fact, some people said He had
forgotten us, that was why everything was
happening, to punish us for our sins. It did
not stop the sinning. The people howled for
relief, for salvation, but none would ever
come. Weeks and months went by in this
fashion until at last years began to pass.
Our population thinned but the madness
and violence only continued. The gray days
taunted us with the possibility of pure
sunlight but it never came. What few
children were born into this time, many
were sickly and died. Few lived but those
that did were hardened in a way their
parents could never be. I began to wonder
if things would ever change, if we would
ever return to the life we all led before.
I realized I was a fool for thinking we
could ever return to such a state. And if we
ever did it would be many lifetimes removed
from my own. I survived, we survived
as best we could, as long as we could.
And when the day came I could no longer
bear the weight of being I found the standing
body of a dead tree, it's branches stripped
of leaves, sat down on the ground, leaned
my back into its trunk and closed my eyes.
I began to dream until I dreamt no more.

Bethany

Bethany was awake
She listened to the church bells
toll through the calm morning
How many times in her life
had she heard that sound
How much longer would
she hear them
She tried to not think
of the answer
She thought of all
the little things she had
to do today
and understood that
life is really nothing but
little things punctuated on
occasion but larger events
that were the exceptions and
not the rule
She looked at the clock on her
nightstand and thought it odd
when she looked at it's face
Turns out it just needed
to be wound up again
Time didn't matter
The hour didn't matter
Only her own actions mattered
In this long and vast life
those moments of small joys
were what mattered
She thought this and
was pleased with herself
She looked at her clock
and even though
the time was wrong
she pulled the sheets up
over her body
and let her eyes close

Wonder

How many long days of work ended with him opening the door
to his car and sitting down? Not all, but a lot of them. It wasn't
that his work was of the back-breaking physical variety, it was
the kind of work that wore out the mind and could make a man
soft and apathetic. Sometimes he would just sit there and close
his eyes before turning the ignition. Once he was on the road it
would be the usual evening slog through traffic filled with others
like himself just happy to be heading home and away from the
touch of work. Every so often he would look into the window
of a car next to him and watch for a moment. Occasionally he
would see someone singing. Other times they would be staring
straight ahead with a steely-eyed focus to get home. They all
had that look of tiredness that work had a way of stamping on
their faces. Even if someone was happy to be driving home
among all the traffic it was rare to see that look on someone's
face. He liked putting on music in the car for his drive. Some
days he wanted something pretty and slow, other times some-
thing fast and daring, but just something to listen to. It was a
little thing that helped make the drive more bearable. There
were many times he wondered what would happen if he just
kept driving. Not going home or to the bar, just driving as far
as he could until the car ran out of gas. How far could he get
and how much farther could he go with another tank? How
he longed to let the road open wide before him and drive until
everything could make sense again. Could the road go on
forever? Would he ever need to return? He wondered but
there was only so much wondering a man could do.

Running Late

He was running late and he hadn't had a chance to
call or text her to say so. She was going to be pissed
he thought. She had been telling him all week how he
needed to make sure he'd be on time today. He thought
he had it all planned out for any contingency but it turns
out to not have been the case. He was racing through the
traffic as best he could without being a complete and utter
asshole. He hated disappointing her. She was probably
fully dressed and waiting on the couch for him to arrive.
Honks and hands greeted him on this drive more often
than he cared to feel. This mad rush, would it matter at
all by the end of the night? Would it be forgiven and
forgotten by tomorrow morning? He hoped it would.
That was a future not yet living. He drove in silence
and finally arrived at his exit. It wouldn't be long now.
The mad dash of desperation, the final stretch was
now at hand. Just one more push.

6 A.M.

The night shift has ended as they walk inside
and find their stools at the bar. Cory sits down
first and puts his wallet on the counter. Veronica
walks over and puts down a coaster and a beer.
Tim and Edgar sit at the end of bar and are talking
while Veronica gets their drinks. It's a normal
morning. They all work at the airport and the bar
is only a few minutes away. She turned the TV's
on to the morning news programs. Tragedy over
in some part of the world, shooting in some state,
the President saying this and that, the usual hum
of day to day history that becomes the background
noise in places like this. In here the news only
serves as fodder for conversation and debate,
everyone here is insulated from the damage of
reality, one drink at a time. When Veronica
turns around Cory's eyes linger on her ass and
legs. He hasn't had much luck with women since
his divorce. Veronica knows he looks when she
turns her back to him, she's heard his story.
She can feel the lingering touch of loneliness in
his voice. Veronica would never date any of
her regulars. There was one she had considered
briefly some time ago but he had stopped coming
in. Cory likes to get buzzed in the morning because
it'll help him get to bed so he can sleep during the
day and be ready for the next overnight. "Good
morning, John" says Veronica to the older man
in the tan members only jacket. John lives a few
houses down and has been retired for years. He
lives alone and likes the company of the folks
at the bar. Ask any of the morning patrons and
everyone speaks only good of John. He was a
veteran of some war he prefers not to talk about.
Not because of what he saw, he saw things
that he would prefer he hadn't, but because he
was taught to be a man and just get on with his
life. It was a tough habit to break at his age.
John set down a twenty on the counter and smiled
at Veronica as he said "Good morning." He always
meant it, too. Veronica placed a glass full of ice
in front of him and began to pour a light beer
into it for him. He nodded and said "Thank You"
Cory looked over at John and said "Good morning,
Sir." John looked at him and nodded. For a time
no one spoke. That was fine with everyone.
The drinks gradually drained away into their bodies
as the specter of day loomed just outside the walls.
Veronica wondered how quickly the day would go
by. Would it drag on endlessly or would it pass by
as quick as the cars rushing into work? She had her
people to tend to and she would know soon enough.

Many Lives

To live many lives
folded into this one
To understand the thoughts
of those unlike myself
To view the world
in ways I never could
To share heartache
that is not my own
To aspire to greatness
I have never felt
To believe in our ability
to change and grow
To become more loving
and compassionate
To learn and absorb
wisdom from the past
Open the book
Let the words find
your eyes
Let the pages live
in your mind
Let the world
renew itself in you

Imagined Reality

I'd crawl into your skull
But you're still alive
And I'm no ghoul
During the day

I dodged a bullet
But brained my head
Against that brick wall
The bruise is gone
I can still feel phantom pain
Or are my memories
Tearing apart old scars

Disconnection enabled
As only familiars can
It's fine to be this way
Out there alone
I'm drinking again
Are you home
Holding a book
Staring out
Your bedroom window?

Gathering Dust

Gathering the dust
                              of your ashes
you cover my hands


My tears find themselves within you

              Forgiveness

I could never ask that of you


Aching knees

Feet refuse to keep me standing

Ache of years

Mind
          weighted and
                                sink
                                      ing
No one will find me here

Alone
           together

To an end

Cumulative

She could hear him stagger in the door
As his uneven steps halted and resumed.

She heard the sound of his body fall into
The deep cushions of the couch. His arms

On his chest as though he were trying to 
Embrace himself. His right leg dangled

Off the couch and was touching the floor.
She would sleep alone again tonight.

Looking at him she could have sworn
She had once known him. 

Sleep less

You forgave me
I never forgave myself
Fiction writes itself over forgotten truths
Creates the illusion of reality
The baby is crying
You ask me to
come over
I walk from my chair to you
My steps are measured and uneven
Night will not pass and
I cannot sleep
Eventually the cries lessen
The calmness of the dark
bores into me
The ceiling fixes it's gaze
on my open eyes
until tears burst over
the edges of my eyelids

Everything becomes fiction 

either by want

or necessity

Oh Lord,

forgive

because no one

else will.

Exit Strategy

A tattooed line of dashes

extends from the inside

of her left elbow

down to her wrist.

The fine print reads

Cut here,

alongside a pair of scissors

no bigger than the paws

of a mouse.

Her arm is pale and

free of blemishes,

much less criss-crossing

scars. She says to me,

"It's just common sense

to have a back-up plan."

Making Mistakes With Every Step

She's bored with the way things have been 

going in her life lately. Work is a repetition 

that has dulled her mind. When she is home

she tries to be the mother she thinks her

daughter needs. She's not sure who that is 

but she is trying to figure it out. Her little 

girl is going to be a beautiful woman one 

day, she is sure of it. 

She doesn't care to stay in touch with her 

ex-husband, though they do see each other

for as much as they have to when they 

pick up or drop off their girl. She drinks 

too much but she doesn't know it yet. It

is going to be fine until the day when it 

isn't, until she wakes up with vomit in the

sheets and caked in her hair and her daughter

is about to return from a sleepover. 

She masturbates to the idea of a man who

is loving, who wants to love her, to be with

her. She doesn't think it is much to ask of

this world but she doesn't know any better.

She is fine going out to bars by herself,

getting drunk, talking to men in smoke

filled rooms, listening to their boring stories

of what bullshit happened at work and the

reason they're drinking at that moment.

They never run out of excuses for drinking,

for drinking more, for driving home, for 

trying to shut off the nagging voice that 

has no off switch. 

She is bored. She lets herself be bored by life.

It could all be better some day. She tells 

herself that every day. When will that day be?

She doesn't know yet but she hopes to know

soon, the days are passing much too quickly

now and time is in a hurry.

Bodies of Water

She had to laugh the day the power
went out at the house-
the next morning she found
a possum that had drowned
in their backyard swimming pool.
Before she found the possum
dead in the pool
she spent the night
placing candles all over the house.
She lit them one by one
with the same electric lighter
he would use to light the grill
during the summer. He hadn't
been coming home
at his usual hour, said he had
to work late,
she believed it
until the day the phone rang
at the house
and a woman's voice said
she needed to come clean.
There was no point in making
a scene over all of it,
at least that's what she told herself.
When the candles were all lit
she walked into the front yard
and admired the glow
of genuine warmth
radiating from the windows
as if the house had been turned
into a massive jack-o-lantern.
When she went inside
she wondered about what night
must have been like
in past centuries,
how foreboding distant sounds
and rustlings must have been
in a world more callous than our own.
She went upstairs, changed,
and waited for him to come.
Her eyes began to tire,
her mind began to close up shop.
She began to remember
going to the beach with her father
when she was a child.
she remembered the first time
she saw the vast and terrible expanse
as they stood there on the sand.
She held his hand as tightly
as her small fingers would allow.
"This is only the edge of the ocean,
the water goes on and on
for many, many miles.
There are people
on the other side of the ocean
who are different than us,
who speak a different language
but we are joined by the same water,"
he said. She understood as best
she could at that time.
How insignificant she felt
at that time
when confronted
with the scale of ourselves
against our home. On the edge
of the horizon
she could have sworn she
saw a seagull fall from the sky.
The candles had all gone out
when she woke. She turned
the tv on just to see if the power
was back, it flicked to life
and she quickly turned it back off.
 A fine mist covered the neighborhood
as she stepped into the yard
to grab the morning paper.
His car was nowhere to be seen.
She went into the kitchen
and put on a pot of coffee
so she could drink
while reading the news.
She grabbed a clean mug
from the rack by the sink
and looked out the window,
something was floating in the pool
near the edge. She stood there
staring at the dead creature
and its furless tail. She went inside
and had her coffee,
read her newspaper.
When she was done she went upstairs
and began to pack a couple of bags
of clothes and other small possessions.
She placed them in her car
and went to the backyard.
It was still floating there like a flesh
and furred cork. She crouched
and grabbed it by the tail and pulled it
out of the water. She held it in air
until most of the water had finished dripping
from its body. She walked upstairs
and placed it in the middle of the bed.
She pulled out a pen and paper
from the nightstand and jotted
something down. She placed
the note next to the new guest.
She went downstairs and through
the front door without bothering to lock it.
She put the car in gear and backed out,
looking both ways to make sure
there was no oncoming traffic.