I don’t know what to write. It seems futile. The practice weak. Words don’t rush by they hither and thither always away from me. I strive to stumble catch them, lurching as a habitual drug user. Foggy brains.
It happened again last night. The strange dreams of flying and open blackness of pits beneath me. Fires on the horizon and we can feel the flames as we get closer. Ashes and sparks and smoke. It’s a city, huge! We fly over it and we fall.
I lose you as I crash into a building that collapses in flames. It sounds like bones cracking and the tiers and pieces fall on me, scorching me. I scream! But the smoke and the fire are too much. It goes black . . .
“Coffee,” I say as the waiter approaches. “and cheesecake.”
“Yes, sir.” he disappears to gather my requests.
The place is empty but it still smells of her. She’s close. Always close. I close my eyes and breathe in her essence. She was here. Sitting right here. Right where I am. Last night. There was a party, gathering. Something. Not fancy. You had wine. Sipped the same glass all night because you didn’t want to seem rude but don’t really like to drink. Business demands sacrifices of morals though, doesn’t it?
The waiter put my coffee and cake on the table. I thanked him and as I turned to eat it I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and looked. The waiter had whipped out a pistol and he was still smiling.
“She wants you to keep coming for her,” he said and the hammer clicked back. “That way she can keep killing you.”
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These are the words that tumbled out this morning.
What do you think?
Michael C. Romeo 