The Twenty-Fourth of May

Today, I ordered my usual -
a medium, iced latte.

I do my routine at the coffee shop:
order, wait, and pick up my drink,
The same man hands it to me, with
his usual golden, circle-framed glasses,
and leather wrist watch.
Walk over to
the little table where
customer's help themselves,
and get a straw.
Stab black counter until
yellow plastic penetrates the
paper covering.
Put it in the drink as I walk out,
pushing the door with my left shoulder
instead of my hands.

The latte tastes different today,
Less milky,
harder to
swallow - bitter.
Or maybe that's just me, today.
Because of you
things are
harder to swallow -
bitter.

Confirmation of Submissions

HeartWood Literary Magazine

The New Yorker

Matador Review

The Small Things

Not washing my face in the morning or night,

Brushing my teeth in thirty seconds, or not at all,

Staying on the ground after a fall,

Skipping a meal, or having a bite.

Sitting in my room for hours without light,

Quietly thudding my head against the wall,

Watching the phone screen turn black when there’s a call,

There’s no sorrier sight.

Things like these go unnoticed,

But I do want people to see.

Do say so please, if you can tell me why.

Because for years I have waited,

But those close to me,

Won’t understand when I say goodbye.

Traumatic Childhood

Their feuds kept her up at night,

And to cope she’d say things were alright.

That was until one day

She saw father’s decay

And on mother’s face: pure delight.

Morning Quiet

She wakes up to pale light and peace,

Hazy head and brown hair with light grease.

But count to three,

And recall, will she,

The car crash left her son deceased.

What Could Have Been (Newshoots submission)

"It's that time of the year again."

"You say that so grimly."

"How else would I say it?"

"Well, I just thought... after these years-"

"The way I felt hasn't changed. Still feelin' it."

"I'm sorry."

"I brought your favourite, caramel popcorn."

"That's fattening, yeesh."

"Come on, you don't have to worry about that stuff! It isn't even like you'll be eating it."

"I know, but even so, you should be careful about your diet."

"These days, I haven't really given that sort of stuff a thought."

"Oh."

"It isn't your fault, you know."

"Yes it is, but, there was no other way."

"You don't know that! If you had just given me a little longer, another chance, I would have-"

"Saved me?"

"Yes!"

"I was a lost cause."

"No... no you weren't... I wouldn't have let you stayed that way, I wouldn't have let you think             that any longer."

"You tried your hardest, stop blaming yourself."

"How can I? I should have tried harder! If I did we wouldn't be in this situation now!"

"You tried your hardest. It kept me with you for much longer than I intended to. Doesn't that count as something? You were able postpone something that had been planned for so long."

"Yes, but-"

"It counted."

"I wanted more, I want more! Three more years weren't close to enough. God, I wish you had             called me then. Why didn't you call me? Or- or message me? Anything to tell me what you                 were going through that night! I could have gotten you out of it like I had so many times                     before!"

"I know you would have made me change my mind! That's why I didn't- couldn't call you! I know how selfish it was! I know the only thing you blame me for is being selfish and not considering the consequences, but I had to do it! Please, understand. It's too late now anyways. All you can do is try to understand."

"I do understand. I understand all of it, but I still wish I could have helped you more. It hurts               so much, even now. It's like pain from a fresh wound, it stings when you touch it but even if                  you don't it's an unceasing burning. Don't you understand where I'm coming from?"

"I wouldn't be where I am now if I didn't understand that."

"I really thought we would face the world together, you know. Have each other's backs at                     fifty, sixty, hell, eighty years old."

"..."

"We'd live real close to each other, maybe across the street or even in the same building, and              we'd do the groceries together, hangout at each other's places so often we'd have each other's                keys, go to Paris, Italy, Hawaii, the Maldives..."

"That would have been nice, but impossible."

"Now it's impossible."

"..."

"I think it could have happened. It would have, if I had tried harder. You're the strongest                        person I know. I have yet to come across anyone stronger."

"I don't blame you for anything."

"Yeah, I know. And I don't blame you for being where you were. Guess the way we think just             leads us to dead ends doesn't it."

"Don't lose the hope you had before. You were kind enough to hope for me, believe so purely that I could get out of my mess, you should invest that in yourself now. Don't waste any more on me."

"I never wasted a single ounce of hope on you. I've never thought that way, not once."

"I always wondered how you could bear coming back so many times, seems you had some faulty wiring up there."

"I'm glad I had faulty wiring."

"That's such a you thing to say."

"I'm really happy you existed. Nothing will ever change that. I'm really grateful we could                     spend some time existing together. I won't forget a single memory of you. I'll cherish them                   forever."

"Thank you."

Two Points of View, Something that Took Much Too Long

Him:

The moment I laid my eyes upon her, I knew, she would be the one.

She looked at everything with that keen gaze, determined to solve the world’s enigmas; I could tell, it was a necessity for her to solve anything that came her way, and I was lucky enough to have come her way. From the back of the lecture hall, I became increasingly infatuated with her. Even her pale, dainty hands, furiously taking notes, pausing only to tuck rogue strands of hairs behind her ears, was perfection. I made eye contact with her twice before, walking past her row. I replayed that moment non-stop. When I closed my eyes I would see hers, that vibrant yet soft green. Weeks of her running through my mind began to weigh me down with frustration; I wanted her to notice me so badly. After class one day, I picked up her name as I walked by her having a conversation with another student: Riley. When night came I found myself at my computer, staring blankly at her account page - my mind was in the middle of a storm. Add friend? Too creepy? Too soon? I wheeled around so that I faced the plain furniture in my room. What the hell. My clammy hands pressed down on the left side of the mouse.

We talked about stuff in the lectures at first, just questions like, “What pages did the prof say the most important stuff was on again?”, and “Could you explain ____ please, I think I have it… but I’m not quite sure.”. I feared that I was growing more and more intrusive with each word I typed, but she didn’t seem to mind it. In fact, she had begun a couple conversations, the subjects of which did not circulate around our lectures.  With time and as our conversations grew more and more personal, I learnt that her brother went missing when she was in highschool, and so fueled the fire that could only be put out with solving the world’s mysteries. Whether it was an answer to why person A reacted a certain way to a sound, or if person B agreed because he actually did or was trying to gain something, she’d find out eventually. My infatuation with her grew with each interaction.

We were in my small, plain apartment. On the alabaster couch - one of the very few pieces of furniture I owned -, we sat, about a metre apart. A metre was a good distance, not too far apart, not too close to cause discomfort; it was close enough that if one of us were to do something, it wouldn’t be necessary to take an awkwardly long trip before, with the other person anticipating and the excitement of the moment disappearing off into the horizon. I was nervous, but excited at the thought of what the night could become. Like a fitness test, the conversation seemed endless, but untiring, momentarily interrupted with sips of wine. Then came the pause in the conversation, when both sides were expecting something to happen, expecting the other party to do something. I knew it was her that was waiting, and I who was to do something. Now or never. My palms were a familiar clammy again, much more severe than when we had dinner at the Italian restaurant, two hours prior. My arm which had been resting on the top of the couch edged closer to her shoulder, her neck, to her other shoulder, and began to gently pull her towards me. Those green eyes wide with excitement, I could see that she wanted to solve the enigma that was me. She knew what was about to happen would pull her deeper, exactly where she wanted to be. Her eyes closed, and I moved closer, able to smell light perfume mixed with red wine. For the rest of the night, I proved to her, that she was the one, the only one, for me.

Her:

The moment I laid my eyes upon him, I knew, I had to get him.

Not in the sense that I fell in love with him, no, rather, there was something odd about him. Odd- but not bad, just odd, and I knew he wasn’t like anyone else. I don’t know what it was about him that my subconscious had caught on to. Perhaps it was his face that darkened whenever he thought no one was looking, even more peculiar that he would dress well - considering the fact that we had third-year courses together and he didn’t show up to class with a crumpled tee and sweats, very well. No wrinkles in his clothes, jeans that actually looked clean, casual, but evidently clean. Usually, someone like this would sit in the front of the lecture hall, around my area, but after class one time I noticed he sat in the far back. Odd. I began to notice him more, and I’d sometimes catch him staring at me. I wondered what his name was, but I didn’t see anyone talk to him so eavesdropping a name would be out of the equation, and he never raised his hand to ask the professor anything. I was curious, but I knew my boundaries. I wanted to understand why he did the things he did but also, pass my courses with a decent mark. So I stopped wondering about him so much, only doing so when I’d see him. It wasn’t until a couple weeks later that he was in my mind’s spotlight again. I was reading an assignment one night when I heard the ping that was Facebook. A friend request? It was his face on the notification. Dillon Clementine. Where did you get my name? I recalled an urge then, to figure out why the hell he did things the way he did. What paths he had taken to lead to where he was now. I’ll blame it on fate if something goes wrong. Accept Friend Request.

He messaged me the next night, stuff about the lecture that day. I remember because I (shamefully) thought that he had only added me (a student that sat in the front) to help him (the slacker) catch up on what he hadn’t cared to listen to. I thought that if I wanted to get any closer to understanding his peculiarities, I’d have to start picking at him. Enter small talk. Where are you from? Any hobbies? Post-uni plan? I found myself becoming more and more interested. An odd man who was gentle, clean, and for an unknown reason, peculiar. He was a friend now, and I became comfortable sharing more personal stories with him. Still, the closer we became, the stronger the tugging feeling I had about him grew. I liked him, but I knew, I’d have to get closer for an answer to the oddity that was him - and so I did.

Half a year of late night and “small-talking-til-you-go-the-other-way-after-class” conversations had passed. I gave myself the benefit of the doubt that he had at least a smidgen of interest in me, and I let this consideration be confirmed when he proposed dinner at an Italian restaurant, his treat. I knew he saw it as a date, and though I had informed him some time before that I was too busy for romantic relationships, he still kindly offered to pay. He invited me over to his place to chat some more afterwards - as friends- and I said yes. I would also be able to see his living situation, collect more clues to the question that had sat in my mind for so long. I was surprised, and not, at the same time when I stepped into the complex. I expected minimalist, not quite “uni-student-Ikea-esque”, but also things you’d see at Pottery Barn or Pier One - a decoration here or there that you’d think a mother had brought over one visit to, “fix up this sorry, supposed space you call a home!” Things were simple, clean; it was bare necessities featuring a couple cushions, three small pieces of art, and a full length mirror on the wall, so as to say, “Yes, I am a grown up.”  

It neared midnight as we sipped wine and talked. I could feel a buzz but I felt safe so didn’t slow down my wine-consuming pace by too much. Then, he began to inch closer. I was intoxicated enough to not mind, but not enough to not understand what was happening. He was trying to kiss me anyways, even after I had turned him down! I was about to move away and kindly reject him - again - but I was becoming lethargic. My body wasn’t moving the way I was telling it to. F**k. He spiked my drink. When?! My eyes grew wide with fear as to what was about to happen. He pulled my paralyzed body closer to his, before whispering, “Let me prove to you, that whether you accept me or not, that you are the only one for me.”

He moved my limp body from the couch, and positioned it so that I could see myself in front of the full length mirror. As I lay there, eyes straining and frantically trying to follow his movements, I desperately analyzed the night. When did he get the chance to-?? It had to have been when I went to the washroom at the restaurant. The place was dimly lit, and we happened to get a table surrounded by empty ones. How could I have let this happen? I saw his reflection approach from behind my body, his arms hidden behind his back. I grunted so as to say no, but obviously that would get me so far. His pleased face sickened me, and revealed a knife. Curved like a boomerang, with the outside edge being the sharp part. “Do you know what this is, Riley?” I tried to scream for help but all that came out were more grunts. “This is a skinning knife, and tonight, Riley, I’m going to show you how much I love you. I’m going to skin your pretty skin and keep it forever. I’ll sleep with it, I’ll sit down with it to eat my meals, I’ll wear it so that I can get ever closer to you.” The pain made me lose consciousness swiftly, thankfully, but I’d never get it back again. The last thing I saw was his knife working at my face, my own blood blinding me.