The broken glass of a dead feeling

A sliver of light, the sign of human contact, and underneath these twelve layers of skin and past the steady stench of urine from the closet corner, the hopelessness and the numb, crammed behind the eye sockets, there is warmth, it’s the small sort of warmth, the dying embers of it, after the smoke is done drifting through the midnight sky, and the wood is gone, and you have to put your fingers on it to feel it, and when you do it burns.1

Roy steps forward. In the distance the television lets out a burst of static and the piano begins to play.2

Steam drifts up from a plate in his hand in the other I can see the almost dead glimmer of red wine.3

He looks4

s5

                      t6

r7

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c  9

hed out, thin and weary.10

“I’m sorry, I got caught up in everything and didn’t get a chance to cook anything earlier.”11

He sets the plate in front of me, the shimmer of a fork beneath worn down palms, stretched with hard times and age, wrinkled with the pain of living.12

A sick moan, like that of a strangled puppy or a cat with a bag around its head struggling, until finally left with only one option, to give in, and the sick moan erupting with this knowledge. 13

“Marcy’s gone.”14

My voice is cold and calculated, but coated with a hint of sweetness like candy and a dab of bright like a pink crayon. “I kind of figured that.”15

“Caila[between sobs] Why did we ever settle for each other, I think we knew we weren’t in love, we knew, we knew we’d still be lonely.”16

“Because,” I reply the coldness still there. We also knew nothing else was coming and that this was more than most people get and we liked each other, we could stand each and maybe in a way that’s love.”17

“I’m so goddamn lonely! I can’t fucking stand it! And Marcy that little bitch I swear if I find her I’ll stab her to death, little bitch leaves me a note and a wicker basket18

That FUCKING whore19

Roy falls to his knees and once again the tears mock me with their easiness. “Oh my God Caila, what have I done?”20

Silence except for the sound of water trickling through broken shingles, seeping beneath the tar-paper, past the plywood, and falling against the carpet. Outside it is raining I can imagine the dirty potholes becoming blurred with muddy brown water in our drive.21

“Don’t you tell anyone22

What Charles did to you”23

d t w d24

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o a           i26

n l d27

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‘ l t29

t a o30

y n c31

y h y32

o o a33

o34

u n r u35

e36

l37

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s39

wood40

wood        wood41

wood                        wood42

wood                                        wood43

wood wood wood wood wood wood44

o                                                      o45

o        o46

d                   glass                          w47

w                  glass                          d48

o                  glass                          o49

o                                                    o50

d                   rood                         w  51

w                  o   o                          d52

o                  o   o                           o  53

o                  d   r                           o 54

doow doow doow doow doow doow55

Roy scrapes the fork across the plate and brings the first bite to my mouth, and I clamp down hesitantly, the noodles creamy and thick, and something underneath them sharp and crunchy, a piece of it which slides between my teeth and draws blood accompanied with a brief bit of pain. 56

I swallow quickly and let the fork out from beneath my teeth.57

Another brush, the coat-hangers clatter together, another bite, more blood running from shredded enamel, another swallow, the pain-full realization that I am swallowing bits of glass, the mental image of blue to yellow as if the colors were ever important.58

“I’m full Roy.”59

He nods and reaches for the plate.60

“No leave that here.”61

“Calla……………………………I’m sorry.”62