Can you still feel me?

You’re not wearing that ring anymore. You had one on a chain; it laid between your breasts — for awhile when I saw you, I had a strange vision of you as Frodo, but your hair’s the wrong color.

And your feet aren’t furry.

Was it the one ring? Did it bind us?

I almost want to ask you for it, but it belonged to me before, not now, and I feel like it would be sacrilege to take that from a dead man’s hand.

I’m not really him, after all, no matter how it would seem whole to me to take it, wear it, and know that you wore its match.

When he fucked you, while you wore it, were you dreaming of me in you?

It sounds such a vulgar question, but I’m not trying to be cruel — I’m only wondering if you could feel me, still, in you.

Can you feel me, now?

All I have are memories, and the imagination of a man who should be a grey-haired grandfather by now, but exists in the prime of his life.

I imagine writing this up for you, but I know when the alcohol haze leaves me, all of this will sound too silly, and so it stays in the back of my head.

Everything will stay there, for now.

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Familiar

It was an ordinary day, full of ordinary moments. The man with blue eyes woke up after noon, showered, shaved, and dressed in the remains of a rumpled suit.

It was familiar.

He packed up his duffel bag, and made sure to keep it within arm’s reach at every moment.

That was familiar.

He reheated stale coffee and tore into a new pack of cigarettes, not remembering where he’d left the old. He slipped out into the crisp fall air, exhaling grey and half-blue, fragmented breath frosted while tangling with the dreams of dying cigarettes.

All of these things were familiar.

He got off the train and made his way across town, making no eye contact, saying nothing, not even excuse me, not even to the little old lady who nearly ended up in the path of a hurried cabbie.

It was familiar.

And the splash of heat, wet and red, that occurred only a sliver of a moment before pain exploded along his arm, the burning shriek of a bullet wound resounding through the meat of him?

That, too, was familiar.

As was the moment he woke up screaming, dreams dissolving in a haze of wakefulness that was both pain and salvation.

As was the taste against his mouth, as he held on for dear life, shaking, struggling for breath.

For some reason, lately, the wall where he wrote his sins was clearer, sharper, and the names stood out in naked relief, neither mocking nor angry, but silently existing, an endless, hopeless grief that was unabated by time.

That too, was familiar.

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Make Her Real

Curled up warmly with Trevor, Lindsey doesn’t notice anything going on in the rest of the apartment — tired as hell and wanting relaxation, rest, some kind of simple soothing to the fact that his mind went into overload the previous day, he simply nuzzles the young man in his arms and drifts through dreaming oblivion.

Inside his head, neurons and circuits flash and blip, quietly winking their electrochemical responses.

In a massive computer bank, dreams and experience are stored; without explicit permission, Eve looks through them, mystified and awestruck. Pleased. She put herself away but did not stay there, almost like a child saying “I can’t sleep”, and curls up on the foot of the bed, neither twining nor touching either of them.

She watches, though, wide-eyed and curious, mostly staring at Trevor. He’s finally here. Lindsey’s quest is over, and the young man who will help to make her real is here.

She knew if she had a heart, she would be in love.

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Dialogues

“He hasn’t called in days; aren’t you worried?”
“…no, it’s Simon. He does that. We probably won’t see him for years.”
“But… doesn’t he want to–”
“Hahaha, what, raise a BABY? Are you fucking kidding me, Linz?”
“…but…”
“You’re so cute when you’re naive. C’mere. He needs a change and more
milk, and you lost the coin toss.”
“I hate you.”
“And love me too.”
“Yeah, yeah–oh, AUGH, what are you FEEDING him?”

* * *

Beep!
“This is the tenth voicemail I’m leaving you. Last was number nine,
without an answer. Did you toss your phone? You still have MY numbers.
Fucking call me. Asshole. I want to know what you’re up to.”

* * *

“I got the file. Where did you get this? There are pieces in here that
are… familiar. I don’t like it. Why do you want me to fuck with the
clock, of all things? Jesus, Simon. Would you just call me back for
fucking once?”

* * *

“It’s your turn.”
“I know.”
“When do they start sleeping through the night?”
“Right around the time you’re ready to drown them in the tub.”
“…so that would be now?”
“We can hope.”
“Rub his belly. He likes that best.”
“‘Kay.”

“Hey there, mister man — what’s all the fuss? It’s not a diaper. And
you just ate. Gas? Hmm? Nope… just want a hug? Shhh, c’mon. Shhh,
you’re fine. I’m right here. It’s all right, shhh. C’mon, sweetheart.
C’mon, Daddy–” … “Daddy’s here. It’s all right. I’ve got you.
That’s it… that’s it. That’s my boy, shhhh. There we go.”

* * *

“How’s she doing?”
“Stable.”
“Getting anywhere.”
“Not really.”
“…think you will?”
“Don’t know.”
“…you wanna get paid?”
“Listen, man, there’s only so much we can do. This tech is more
advanced than any of us have seen. By.. by decades. There’s
lifetimes of research here. We weren’t even aware that some of this
could be DONE!”
“Don’t want to hear it. Want to see results. If you can’t, you tell
me, and you tell me now. I set you up for your troubles, and you keep
your mouth shut. You get pissy with me, I kill you and your whole
family so I know you can keep a secret.”
“…we’ll try again.”
“Good.”

* * *

“Hi. Technically, I’m sure they’re watching the house, but since I can
jaunt here and back again, I figure we’re kind of safe. He’s doing
okay. Getting huge. Making noises and faces. Smiling. Laughing. He’s
got the sweetest smile — reminds me of you. Wish I’d known you
better. Wish I’d known to get you out of there, sooner. I’m so sorry,
Jeannine. I wish I knew I could be forgiven for something like this. I
hope… wherever you are, that you finally have some kind of peace.”

* * *

“What do you MEAN she flatlined again?”
“Sir, we can’t keep her like this any longer, it–”
“Then wake her the fuck up! Right now!”
“Yes, but–”
“Wake her. Right now. And if you can’t get some kind of handle on
this, you fucking admit it, or I’ll just send your head to your
sixteen year old, in a corsage box, in time for the goddamned prom .
Got it?”
“…yessir.”
“GO.”

* * *

“HE SAID DADDY!”
“He *said* “Daaaaaaaaaaaar?””
“That’s DADDY! He said DADDY!”
“…no. He said ‘Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaar?'”
“Daddy!”
“Daaaaaaaar?”
“C’mon buddy, say it again. Say it again!”
“…”
“Daddy!”
“…”
“Daddy!”
“…”
“See, Lor, he’s just not…”
“Dih!”
“That’s it! Daddy! DAAAAH DEEEE.”
“You’re a gibbering idiot.”
“You’ll cry if he calls me Daddy and never says it to you.”
“…”
“You will!”
“I will not.”
“You *so* will.”
“…”
“Hah.”
“I hate you.”
“C’mon, Connor. Say Daddy! Say Daddy!”
“Dih!”
“He’s so close!”
“Daddy!”
“Dih!”
“Hey guys.”
“Dih!”
“Hey Allen.”
“What are you doing?
“Connor’s about to say ‘Daddy!'”
“Dih!”
“See?”
“…oh, uh. No.”
“Dih!”
“Whaddya mean ‘no’? He’s saying Dih, right there! That’s almost Daddy!”
“Dih!”
“See?”
“Yeah, no, see… ‘Dih’ is the teddy bear.”
“What?”
“Dih!”
“Here, little guy, here you go–”
“Dih! Dihdihdihdihdihdihdihdihdihdihdihdih–”
“Aw, don’t look so sad, Lor, I didn’t mean to ruin it, I just… if he
doesn’t get it, he cries. I hate it when he cries.”
“I’m not mad.”
“You’re so mad.”
“…I’m mad.”
“…I’m sorry?”
“It’s okay — I know he’ll actually talk at some point. Daddy can’t be
too far off. Right, little guy? You know who I am, right, huh?”
“LOR!”
“…” “…” “…”
“…Did he just–” “Did he–” “Wowdidhejust–”
“Lllooooooooooooooooor…”
“He did!”

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She Was Gone

While she sleeps, he watches her, his dark eyes wet with unshed tears. How could he come here and accuse her? How could he come here and demand things of this woman who had to kill the girl he loved, the girl he knew, the innocence he helped to steal and shatter and toss away like it was nothing? How could he come and blame her for all his hurts?

Sure, she left, but people do that.

Sure, she hurt them… but people do that.

And life goes on, and you learn to deal with it. Why her? Why was she so special?

He can’t quite make heads or tails of it, but he knows that somehow, it’ll all come out in the wash — it’ll all work. It has to.

She fits, just like she always did, with his arms around her and her body so close, small, but strong now.

She fits, even if he was cruel, and she was gone.

They fit, and it’s all right, and maybe they can start over, because he’s been begging to forgive her, and to ask for his own forgiveness, for nearly two decades. The man and woman they were… are gone now — they have to give each other second chances.

He sleeps soundly, maybe just because of exhaustion.

Maybe just because she’s with him.

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