I must be crazy to take you back, but this’ll be the last time. The absolute last time. Not like the other times. It’ll be different this time. I mean it. You say you’ve changed and can’t live without me. Ok, I’ll let you back in my life. But from now on, I don’t want any more of your hollow apologies. I’m serious when I say I’m done being trivialized and made to feel stupid.

Although your unfulfilled promises are stockpiled in my mind, I will give you one, and only one, more chance to not break my heart again.

Tapping my finger against the table, I stared over my drink and past the seats at the door. What may come to me through that door is the very thing I might fear, or the thing I might hold most dear. My body went rigid at the thought, trying to find some balance to that concept, but I started to thrum from the rattle of my nerves instead.

What may come to me through that door... The tapping from my index finger felt almost synonymous to the ticking of a clock as I waited, watched, and then waited some more for things to take a slightly different turn. What may come through that door.

I tried to squint at it, like scrutinizing it would allow me to twist and warp space, turning the door until the windows gave way and the iron beams framing it all together snapped loose. Come.

Antsy, my anticipation started to reach a peak, my tapping no longer keeping in rhythm until the train wreck of my finger's twitch ached up my hands, spasming my knuckle and tendons until I yanked my hand from the table sharply to grab that hand and squeeze. And I mean squeeze! I squeezed that hand so hard, I was almost to believe I'd pop it from the joint, rip it away and discard the limb wholly with the intent to throw it away or yeet is across the room in some capacity.

"Diana?"

My gaze snapped sharply up, and an uneasy smile worked up out of me as I tried to smooth the wrinkles of my nerves and emotions like the lapels on a gentlemen's suit. "Yes?" I answered back calmly.

The woman settled in across from me at the faux wood table in the chair made of iron and 'wood' where we nestled face to face in the cozy atmosphere of the dimly lit café, where overcast clouds shrouded the entire room in gray. I didn't look at her. I couldn't. Instead, I snapped my gaze down to the table, at the fake grain of the wood that had black stain settling in the grooves just below the surface.

"I know this was an impromptu meeting, but I figured it would be better to see you in person to discuss this than over the phone."

"I know," I told her, toiling with my fingers a little bit. Taking in a deep breath, I stopped, held it and closed my eyes as the waning distortion of my surroundings displaced me in my mind, making me wonder if I might throw up from it all.

"I wanted to let you know it wasn't your fault."

"I know," I repeated again.

"She loved you."

"I know." I answered back, my voice harder, more rigid, like I was blotting out everything in me warring and raging to lash out.

"Di-"

"Stop." I told her, unfurling my hands from themselves to put one up in motion for her to pause. "Just-" I put my finger and thumb to the bridge of my nose, pinching my eyes shut as I tried to think. "Stop. For a moment. Before we continue..."

"Sure. Take your time."

"Thanks," I answered, my tone serious, and all playfulness wrung out of it. "I just- I need to think."

"Okay."

Stop answering everything I say! A part of me snapped, but I didn't speak those words. Don't feel sorry. There's nothing to feel sorry about! Another part of me barked out, but those words also didn't rip loose from my mouth. Slowly, my eyes opened, and I felt like the blare of the warm overhead lights must have hit me in a way because it hurt. The light stung, and the pollution of it dug into me in a way that made my head throb until I was rubbing my ears, like they were already ringing. And then I spoke.

"I wanted to say so much to her," I said. "I wanted to see her turn around. I really did, because no matter what I said or did, I never could hate her, but when we were in front of each other, I couldn't do anything else but feel resentful, and I'm still sorry for it."

"That's not your fault."

"No! Of course not. It's not my fault!" I said, my voice rising a little as the jilt in my tone took a sharper note. A curled smile spread over my lips until I was opening my eyes, but rolling them as I fluttered them open and shut, like I was pissed by the prospect of it all. "She's her own person. I only wish she knew and understood that."

"Mhm. We know that. You and I both know that."

"Gah- And she fucking!" I put my hands up, and then everything kind of let loose out of me as I let my hands drop and I sighed, blinking away the wetness in my eyes. I was still pissed. Cut... Hurt, you could even say. For someone who was supposed to have sired me in this life, she sure had done a funny job at proving that she was a decent human being... at least to me. Fuck, I hated how that shit all went tits up when I took off the rose colored glasses. "I wish I could shake her!" I said, feeling my teeth scrape the cold air as I sucked it in. "I wish I could yell at her and ask her, scream at her, what the fuck she was thinking when she did all this and then up and died on me! Like she thought she never had to deal with absconding from her responsibilities all because I told her I was tired of being her kerosene, but no! That wasn't good enough! And I wasn't worth it!"

"I mean, you are-"

"DON'T!" I put my face in my hands. "Don't speak on her behalf. It just makes me more pissed."

"Okay."

"God." And I shuddered, my shoulders slumped forward as I bent over my table, in my chair, in this hard seat that somehow didn't make my ass hurt because it was bare of any cushioning. "I want to hate her," I told her. "I really do, but I can't. I'm just pissed that she never took initiative to fix anything, and she always played pretend that she did and it hurts. It sucks! And it hurts." And when she didn't say anything, I continued. "I wanted her to be there, to kind of turn things around and stop being that kid. That kid that just... watched me grow from being a little kid to an adult. I want to be adults side-by-side with her, but now she's gone. She's just... gone, and I have to deal with that too. I knew I had to, but it doesn't make it feel any better."

My teeth chattered, so I clenched them. "She could have bought kerosene from the store, like every other fucking idiot who never seems to get it instead of setting me on fire, but she just couldn't help herself!"

I sucked in a sharp breath, and my body shuddered. "God damnit! I hate that shit! I hate how everyone who's ever tried to paint themselves as these... helpful people, these... community actors, just love to fucking set people like me on fire because they can't be fucked enough to buy kerosene from a store, to find some other entertainment elsewhere and I get to suffer for it. And she wasn't any different, and now she's dead. Great!" I rolled my eyes, tears streaming down my face. I blinked a few more times, then squeezed my eyes shut as more tears kept streaming down my face. "Great."

The chair clattered as she got up, and I nodded at her that it was good. That it was okay to go, because I think she too knew she was at a loss, and without the capacity to be the heart health I needed right now.

And so I just put my head in my hands and leaned over the chair as she stepped outside to give me a moment, while I sobbed... in the corner of the dark room of the nearly empty café. Some mother... Some body... But not mine. Not me.

We weren't close enough, because it was never meant to be.

My presence lowered the room’s median age by 30 years. Side-eye glares began once I entered. Judgmental early arrivals, who had separated into their cliques, were suspicious of this newcomer. Just looking to kill some time before reconvening with the bachelor party, I accepted my helot designation by sitting along the perimeter with the other outcasts. The lighting wasn’t ideal. I was in line with an AC vent. Such are the downfalls of the supposed downtrodden.

Settling in, I realized those nearby weren’t exchanging pleasantries to make my acquaintance. Although members of a lesser caste, these strangers weren’t friends I hadn’t met. They were out to gain a higher standing by beating someone on a lower rung. Winning sets you free. Expanding your social circle doesn’t. This was a cutthroat aggregate.

It quickly became apparent who the nobility were: Mrs. S and Reggie. I couldn’t figure out their relationship. Siblings? Married? Working as a team? But all exalted their names and acted interested in their retelling of past wins. Like royalty, the pair held court. Not meaning to, I made eye contact with Mrs. S. Out of politeness, I gave her a deferential nod and grin. She relegated me to being a subordinate by replying with a condescending sneer. Bitch. Game on.

“Everyone ready?” was the only announcement needed for people to affix their concentration. As expected, the action was fast paced. Players remained focused. You’d hear the attempted witty comment randomly interjected by Reggie. Done more to throw off others than for entertainment purposes. The unfortunate ones who were distracted by this maneuver ended up on the wayside.

I kept a low-profile the first few rounds. My strategy was to act obtuse, then strike when the stakes were higher. Reggie had already notched four wins while his femme fatale had six. They were dominating and knew it. However, they didn’t grasp that any congratulatory acknowledgment from the almost rans was insincere.

Once the big jackpot came up, I decided to make my move. I’d bolster the 70% luck and the 25% skill needed with my 5% determination. The first thirty seconds put me behind. My hand barely moved as others’ feverishly bobbed up and down. Then my rally began. G Forty-eight. Need it. B Fifteen. Need it. I Thirty. Need it. And then, as if hearing it slowed down to 33 RPMs: OOOO Sevvvventyyyyy Onnnnnne. Dabbing the blank square with my ink marker, I held my card high and exclaimed “BINGO,” before partially rising from my seat.

With gloating intentions, I scanned for Mrs. S. Her back remained turned to me. She was, no doubt, engaging Reggie in some contemptuous discussion involving “beginner’s luck” or “even a busted clock is right twice a day.” I reveled in the fact Her Highness and Prince Uncharming were temporarily deposed.

Victory was financially sweet and hierarchically advancing. I departed $250 richer. But more importantly, I discarded my status as a bottom rung serf.

They all think I'm pretty crazy, safely tucked away up here in my attic. But I still can hear the rumblings and stumblings of those out and about below me. Fools! They’ll never find me, and that’s just fine. I’m done with all of 'em. I’m done with the world. Maybe one day someone from down there will wonder what’s up here. They might one day lower the disappearing stairway and climb the wobbly steps into my domain. And that’s when they’ll find me. Alone and happy. And covered by a layer of dust. In storage. And out of style.

Jenny Foyer was a woman of principal. She liked to keep her manner of dress outside of conventional social fashions, often adopting less revealing clothing that gave her a bodied slender appearance without it fitting every curve of her shape.

She had a knack for assembling her wardrobe in that manner, because if it wasn't of a more conservative ladylike appearance, it was a barely fitted t-shirt with straight legged jeans, and that was the way she liked it.

On Tuesdays, she'd go to her local Post Office, speak to Carl, the window attendant, casually about the weather and then pick up the mail. On Wednesday, she would meet with Marlene for a dinner out on the town, and on Friday she would spend the afternoon inside to avoid the bustle of everyone preparing to go home for the weekend or begin their weekend activities early while she was curled up on her bed or the open door of her back porch, looking up at the sky while reading a book.

And despite her very tempered activities, Jenny Foyer... was a dreamer.

Jenny dreamed of lands were she could meet men that would spin her across dancefloors, turning her until her skirts spun up to their maximum extended reach towards the world around her, and people gossiped in ways that made you want to investigate as if it might be correlating to the world's biggest news scandal murder. She wanted a life like that. One of adventure, exciting and romantic, but the best she'd ever come close to was a relationship she vehemently protested much to the behest of her close friend, Riley, who asked her to go out with a friend of hers. And that turned into an emotional blunder she wished she'd never vested in.

Sure, she got to kiss him. Once... Okay, maybe more than a handful of times, just to see if the romance of being affectionately adored was as great as the books professed. And it was! But then Jessabelle, Ian's previous relationship, came into the picture and suddenly Ian seemed like he was pressuring her for a little more than a kiss.

And that was were everything came to a grinding halt. For both of them. Jenny made it a clear point when talking to Taylor that if Jessabelle wanted him and they had some "fling" together at some point prior, she could have him if he wanted her bad enough. He asked her out, not the other way around, and... maybe some time after that... Ian had done... something or other that he couldn't get from her with Jessabelle, and then things were called off shortly after that, or maybe even before. She didn't care.

Either way, Ian was gone, and so were the kisses she'd affirmed a more or less visceral sensation to for some brief point and time.

Closing her eyes, she could kind of think on it, smile to herself at how stupid it all was, but she got what she wanted, even if Ian hadn't entirely gotten what he wanted. She was happy.

"And I'm not stupid," she giggled to herself before lifting the book from under her nose, breathing in to return to reading.

Nothing was ever as memorable as the events she read. Not even Ian's, because it only served as a reference for the more enjoyable first-person fictions, and laughable for the ironies spent on reading about men caught in the act of cheating. Oh, it was more delicious! More enjoyable, and even to keep her giggling in a fit from her back porch door all to the privacy of herself.

But that wasn't all that Jenny did. No.

But it was enough.

Jenny loved her life. Loved the solitude of it, because even if it wasn't real, it didn't matter. Because sometimes, even when she felt a smidgen of loneliness, she too, could believe she was just as fictional, and she was reading about someone else who was make believe too. And it made her feel good for it.

Brittle nails dragged through coarse soil. Tousled hair like that of a tumbleweed intertwined dirt, debris and rusty blood. Sweat beaded and dropped off, bringing a glow back to the pale, gouged face of her old lover. Brittle nails stroked that cold, firm skin one last time before filling the gap of his lips with more mud. He was always pretty while still. The sun, unforgiving in its glare, heated up the live lover, although that could’ve been the satisfaction of the dead one finally disappearing under the sludge of country fields. The city roads couldn’t provide hunting like this.

The old front porch wooden door— swings opens- revealing a kind of dark, & tall shadowy ghostly figure. Martha steps back, and gasps. “Greg is that really you?” But Greg does not respond…Martha now simply stays in one fixed point, as her body trembles from the sight of a trail of Greg’s blood that is oozing out of his ears, nose, mouth, including his eyes.

Martha finally out of nowhere hears something in the back of her head telling her to run~as fast as her Olympic gold medal marathon legs can go in a matter of decaseconds.

#CORVUS.

Mardi, 20.05.2025

Fucking birds! Fucking Canada Geese! Every time I go to the library, which is quite often, some goose shits on my car. This only happens at the library. Why? I park at the post office one half mile away with no issues. I don't know if you have ever seen seen a goose poop but it is huge! Then I have to spend $12 at the car wash to clean it off. Go home! You are supposed to be in Canada. And you people - stop feeding them and they will go away.

*thank you mishmash for sparking my brain.

A quiet scene

A sudden scream

Then all are shown on their porches.

A shout for help

A gurgling welp

Silence is moved with torches.

Sirens appear

To the listening ear

Nothing seems to make sense.

Someone's hurt

Policeman's work

The rally was peaceful now it's tense.

Marching desperately into late march.

April showers approaching?!

The future seems bleak.

June will soon be approaching.

Hopefully we'll get there in time,not dead on arrival like the others.

I look back at the complete darkness,as I head towards the light.

Vitamin D is our dying plea and destination.

Suddenly I feel a hint of warmth,I look back,the blackness is subsiding.

No!They won't do that to us again.

They promise,and taunt!

And leave us in the dark!

I heard of one time they complained of heat,and they were obliterated with rain.

I have to grin and bear it!

No complaining they said.

Who are they?

They call themselves the overlord.

All I know is that if we're quiet they're quiet.

They sleep quarterly,and awake early June.

If they hear us they'll signal to the subliminal powers above.

We slowly and quietly creep into late may.

The heat is starting to rise.

Were getting close!

Trees in the near distance,fruit and herbs.

All of a sudden as we reach out for nourishment.

All the plants and trees are sucked in and through the ground.

The sky goes dark.

It must be June!

Then there's a loud voice from the sky.

We are the overlord.

You are trespassing on restricted grounds!

You must turn back!

Or else!

We will not go back.

Please,please.Vitamin.

Suddenly the heat becomes unbearable.

We drop to our knees begging for rain.

Not caring for the early consequences of the past.

Bullets of rain.

Bodies dropping to the ground.

Then complete silence.

That day June 6th,1,944 despairing souls were vanquished with an onslaught of vitamin d.