Fiction

He didn’t want to play, but you pressured him.

Sometimes I think there are worms in my eyes.

But she has always desired Something. 

18 year olds everywhere, in every decade, all the same. 

I knock, gently, on the door, but there is no answer. Perhaps I am at the wrong address.

I walk down Colonial Ave. on my way to my favorite coffee shop, Cafe Stella. They’re open from 6:30 a.m. — 10 p.m. every weekday, so I’m shocked to see that they’re closed at 11am on a Wednesday.

I want to go back to that night. Just for a moment. Just to escape. 

There was a beautiful girl who lived mostly in her head. She wasn’t beautiful for any notable extrinsic features. She looked quite normal, but radiated a natural essence of charm. Her name was Ruby.

Inside New Mt. Zion church, in front of the pulpit, lay the body of a man I’d never known nor seen a day in my life.