A Hazy Black Ring

When you're finally done absolving yourself
Crane your neck for a better view
Find me in the liminal and let me know

I lied to you
on your dying day,
but I don't know
how lucid you were, anyway,

and I want to say
that, at the time,
it was more of a half-truth
than an outright lie

(and,
in a certain sense,
it wasn't a lie at all),

but it was mostly
the implicit meaning
behind it that you
might have gleaned

—had you the ability
to discern reality
from the waking hell
you were in—

that shames me so much,
and I wish that I could
fulfill all of the promise
that you thought I had,

but I've never really had
the wherewithal
to make anyone proud.

I think often about
Our times by the river,
You singing Sarah and
Me harmonizing while
Waiting for you to pass the joint,
Our cheeks aching and
Our toes digging into the wet sand.

It wasn't love,
But something nearly,
That held us together
From the first time that I
Awkwardly told you your hair was pretty
To the last time we spoke,
Still dreaming our dreams and
Planning out our lives together.

How easy it is,
Once proximity is a memory,
To be swept away in the
Current, and to believe
There isn't any fighting it,
To let circumstances dictate.

I wish that I could
Return us to what we were and
Undo all that has happened,
Fight against, and
Find you.

Instead I think often about
Dreaming with you by the river, and
Spend my days avoiding mirrors.

let's not call it “giving up”
maybe “moratorium” is better
i’ve never been one
to call myself a quitter

(but i’ve never been one
to call myself lots of things)

i spoke to you often
about the power of a word
about finding just the right fit
about agonizing over it

(not that you understood
but i understood that)

it seems so final
not just a drop of the ball
but an intentional release
a saying, “i was never
enough,”

(and a thinking about
the truth behind it)

let's neither call it “giving up”
nor embrace the finality of the words
let's give it another Name

it's in the penumbra
that i find you
the place where no one looks

the periphery holds
our dreams
our fears

our silence

we can exist here
descending into the fantastic
and closing our senses
and our minds
and
and
and

it will pass
the silence
with our dreams
with our fears

while we wait

Yellow flowers on green wallpaper
A million eyes to see
My fingers caress the bedpost
My neck twisting

My heart beats unfairly

Orange flame on a white stick
The cherry glows and
I catch a glimpse of
A yellowed fingernail
I inhale and hold it
Until my lungs protest

It still smells of you here

Two smiles encased in glass
My fingers slink around
As my toes retract
Clinging futilely to carpet fibers

My brain goes gathering
As a million eyes watch
I empty my blackened lungs
And drag another match
Across the side of its box

I'm doing it; I'm doing it!

Thursday, August 13th—5:54 p.m.

1,146 words. Approximate reading time: 5 minutes, 43 seconds.

Nolan pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow with his right hand while he tightened his grip on the handle of his wagon with his left. The sun was hanging low in the sky, and he knew that he had gotten off to a later than usual start heading back from the woods.

He trudged along silently. Every so often, he would turn his head back to look at the carcass of the deer he was struggling to pull along with him, and he would smile. It would be a wonder if he made it home before dark, but at least he’d be returning with enough deer to feed his own family and a neighbor or two for a little bit, and that would be worth missing bringing anything to tonight’s dinner. It would also help make up for the loan of baking supplies that Eartha had given Marilyn last week when they were out of flour and a caravan wasn’t due for another week.

Nolan’s boots crunched on the broken asphalt underneath him, and the wheels of his wagon scraped and squealed slightly. This was Nolan’s favorite route, because it took him through the old town center. The sounds of his boots and the wheels of his wagon on the asphalt were therapeutic to him, and a good signal that he was not far from home. He looked around, surveying the ghost town that was once the county seat. It looked very much like it did not ten years ago. Most of the windows were gone from the buildings, and there was some graffiti around, of course, but for the most part it seemed like people avoided this area.

Nolan remembered what it was like when he was a kid, and his parents would bring him into the city center. His dad would go look through the antique shops while his mom would take him to the consignment shop and the thrift store to find clothes for the upcoming school year. The streets were bustling with people and cars, and there was a beautiful cacophony that only came from the mixing of hundreds of conversations between friends, travelers, and songbirds. Now the only sound was the crunching of Nolan’s boots and the scraping and squealing of his wagon’s wheels.

It was still beautiful, in a different way, Nolan would think every time he took this route home. He would usually stop in front of the thrift shop and look through the area where the front window had been, and imagine himself and his mother in there, rifling through racks of used clothing searching desperately for something that wouldn’t make him look poor in front of the other kids at school. And so, though he was already quite behind, he stopped again when coming to the thrift store.

He stood there, so lost in thought of the simpler problems of yesterday, that he didn’t notice the other man approaching until he was only a few yards away. When he did notice, however, he sprung immediately into action, dropping the handle of his wagon and pulling his bow from his shoulder. He removed an arrow from his holster and nocked it, pulling back on the string and aiming it at the man.

“Stay back!” Nolan shouted, anxious to protect his game from anyone that may decide they needed it more than him. “I don’t want to have to hurt you!”

“Woah, woah, woah!” the man responded, throwing his hands up immediately. “I don’t mean any harm, I promise. I’m not even armed.”

“What do you want?” Nolan asked, not releasing the tension on his bowstring. “I don’t have anything I can spare.”

“Well,” the man said a bit sadly, “I guess that is sort of what I was looking for. I, uh... I used to live around here, and, well, my wife, she died and so me and my kid—”

“You got a kid?” Nolan asked, holding his aim at the man’s chest.

“Yeah, a little boy,” the man responded, and pointed at a cross street near where they currently were. “We took shelter over there in a storefront around the corner, but we got nowhere to go. I heard your wagon and I, look I honestly didn’t know what you had in it, I just knew it was another person, and you don’t see many people around these parts anymore.”

“Uh-huh,” Nolan said, keeping his grip tight. “Okay, I don’t wanna be a jerk or anything, but this here deer is for my family and for the rest of the families in my little town, and we don’t really have room for another couple of mouths to feed. I’m sorry, but you know how it is.”

“Yeah, I get it,” the man said. “But we could work. I mean, he’s sick right now, but when he’s better. And I can work in the meantime. We can help out and we won’t take up much space. But it’s good you got that wagon. Come over to where my son is and he can ride up in there with that deer. He’s not really too good to travel, you see.”

Nolan’s eyes narrowed a bit. “Actually, that’s not really on my way,” he lied, not wanting to get himself caught up in some sort of ruse. Best case scenario, the man was telling the truth, and someone else would eventually come along.

“Come on, man,” the man said, “I can’t believe you’re being like this. People around here used to be so kind to everyone and willing to help out. It’s why I came back here in the first place.”

“I’m sorry,” Nolan said, “But those days are long gone. You can’t really trust anyone these—”

An involuntary muscle spasm, probably from an old war injury. It hadn’t happened to Nolan in quite some time, though it had been hell working through it when it was really bad, especially when he was hunting. These days, it really only ever seemed to happen when he was under a lot of pressure or stress. This particular evening, Nolan’s wrist decided to act up at the worst possible time, resulting in a man lying dead in the middle of the road with an arrow through his heart.

Worst case scenario, the man was lying and there was a group of bandits waiting to ambush him and take his deer and maybe his life. Best case scenario, the man was telling the truth and there was a sick child in a store around the corner.

Nolan pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow again, before putting his bow back over his shoulder. He knelt down and gripped the handle of his wagon, then turned and headed back in the opposite direction, having suddenly made the decision to take the back way home, even though it meant he would be well after dark before getting back.

Surely someone else would come along.

Tuesday, November 13th—2:16 p.m.

1,307 words. Approximate reading time: 6 minutes, 32 seconds.

“Well, it’s hard to really pin down any one event,” Dr. Reynolds responded to the audience member. “Most of the records we have are from the Free States; New Medeo’s were almost all destroyed in the eventual uprising. But there were plenty of people that entered the Free States as refugees in those last few years, so we rely on those accounts to get an idea of what was really going on within New Medeo.

“What’s important to remember is that, while there is usually something we can point to that actually caused ‘the spark,’ as it were, there are often underlying tensions that go back several years. When historians say that the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand set in motion the events of World War I, they mean that was ‘the spark.’ The actual causes that led up to that event go back further.

“What we found in the accounts of refugees and of Free State government officials points, similarly, to a single death being the spark that set the entire chain of events into motion. Most interestingly, that death was initially overlooked by the public at large. It was, after all, one of those routine deaths that we are told occurred with staggering regularity in New Medeo. A citizen was found walking outside and was summarily executed for failure to abide by New Medeo’s laws.

“We actually don’t even know this citizen’s name, or why she in particular was the catalyst, as, again, the information that we’ve learned from refugee interviews tell us that this was not an uncommon occurrence. New Medeo, founded as a state focused on medical and personal safety for its citizens, had adopted policies that are still controversial to this day. Initially, citizens were quarantined to their house and directed to work from home as much as possible. They weren’t absolutely restricted in their movement at first, but were highly encouraged to stay home and avoid other people.

“Eventually, as New Medeo methodically gathered data on all of its citizens, a schedule was created for its people to follow, so that they may experience fresh air and exercise while still being able to avoid other people. As time went on, many citizens continued to express fear around even the precautions that were put in place. The New Medeo government placed an emphasis on expanding virtual reality technology and drone shipments for goods, working with major corporations that were headquartered there. The speed of development on these items was unprecedented, and within a few years no citizen had any real reason to leave their home. So, for public safety, leaving one’s home was forbidden.

“Any citizens that were found outside of their homes were considered disease vectors and were executed on sight. After the first few of these, most citizens were sufficiently afraid to leave their homes (and really, a large portion of them were actually reporting happiness at not having to leave their homes). So the deaths became unnewsworthy, unless the government or the corporations felt the need to reassert the fear in their citizens.

“So, while we can point to the execution of an unknown New Medean as the catalyst that set events in motion, it goes far deeper than that. The biggest questions that we have to ask are why did the citizens tolerate this for so long, and why exactly was this one execution the straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak? Unfortunately, we don’t have direct answers for that right now. Hopefully, as we expand upon our knowledge of digital archaeology, we can unearth more.

“For now, we have reports from former citizens that there existed certain spaces inside the virtual reality world that were, for all intents and purposes, hidden from the corporation that managed that world. It seems unlikely until you realize that the virtual reality world was robust enough to effectively replace the physical world in most instances. The entire idea behind the push into better and better virtual reality was to provide the citizens with a way to still socialize despite not being afforded the ability to physically congregate.

“So, small groups of citizens that were not satisfied with the status quo would attempt to hold clandestine meetings in the virtual reality space. Many of these attempts were unsuccessful, and the corporation shut down those spaces as well as the access of any individuals that were associated with those spaces. For New Medeans, this was effectively a death sentence, as they would be unable to access any municipal or corporate services, including grocery delivery.

“Like with the executions, these disconnections were broadcast to the public at large as a warning. But as time went on, more and more citizens, especially the older citizens that lived in the time before the disease, became disillusioned with the world they were living in. More clandestine meetings and disconnections were to follow, until a group managed to finally create a space that was hidden from the corporate eye.

“This group, calling themselves The Returners, rallied themselves into action after the execution of the unknown New Medean, though no one as of yet knows why. Group members totalling in the hundreds left their homes, risking execution (and indeed, many did get executed), and congregated in an abandoned skyscraper just outside of New Medeo’s capital.

“This is around the time that many citizens, fearing for their lives, attempted to take refuge in the Free States and the Quarantine Zones. And that’s about the extent of what we know. The Returners succeeded in their mission of liberating New Medeo from government and corporate control, but were ultimately unsuccessful in building a new state, as group in-fighting saw New Medeo split into two states, and the resulting civil war left both states in shambles.

“The Free States and the Quarantine Zones, in turn, joined together to absorb what was left of New Medeo and create a single unified state, just thirty years after the civil war that split New Medeo and the Free States. What’s interesting here is that the Free States, which experienced heavy blows in the war to infrastructure and, as a result of those along with embargos from most of the world’s countries, were left in an almost Wild West frontier state, didn’t have the same problems with its citizens. The Quarantine Zones, which similarly lacked technology after the successful uprising by quarantined citizens, also managed to maintain some semblance of peace amongst their various scattered zones.

“The difference, it seems, between New Medeo and the Free States and Quarantine Zones, is really about the connection of its citizens to each other. While New Medeo’s citizens were all constantly connected, they were also, if reports are to be believed, constantly divided over minor matters. In the Free States and Quarantine Zones, the only connection between various cities or zones was in the form of traders that passed from area to area, keeping citizens abreast of various news of the day.

“I’m aware that I’m rambling a bit, but hopefully you can appreciate what I mean when I say that it’s difficult to pinpoint any one event, though we give our best guess in the execution of the unknown New Medean. We can point further back to the appearance of the Disease, or to the civil war that created New Medeo and the Free States. We can even point to New Medeo’s policies and citizen dissatisfaction. It’s best, really, to look at the situation as a whole—one of the main reasons why digital archaeologists are so fascinated with New Medeo is because of how unprecedented the state’s creation was, and how quickly, in the grand scheme of things, it was dissolved.”

“Thank you, Dr. Reynolds,” the moderator said, “for your thoughtful and detailed response. Does anyone else in the audience have a question for any of our panelists? Yes, you, in the third row. Please step up to the microphone and introduce yourself.”

Tuesday, June 20th—12:14 p.m.

929 words. Approximate reading time: 4 minutes, 38 seconds.

Yara turned her head back to make sure that she wasn't too far ahead of Casey. "Come on, slowpoke!" she shouted back to him. "I'm going for a new personal best!"

Casey plodded steadily along the path behind her. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he huffed. "Not all of us have the same superhuman endurance that you do."

Yara laughed and slowed her pace a bit. "That just means you need to go on more hikes with me!" she exclaimed. "You're right, though. I forget this isn't really a workout for you like it is for me."

"It's okay," Casey replied with a smile as he caught up to Yara and matched her somewhat slower pace. "I like getting to see you and like, getting out in nature and stuff. Don't get me wrong; I hate hiking."

"But you love how good it feels when you finish up that seventh mile and you take a step back and realize what it is you accomplished?" Yara asked.

"I was thinking more, I love how good it feels when I finish up that seventh mile and I realize that my comfy couch is finally only a few minutes away," Casey said. The two laughed as they continued along the sandy trail, quietly taking in the palmetto plants that formed a sea of green on either side of the path. An oak canopy sat on the horizon not far from where they were.

Casey wiped the sweat from his brow and tried to focus his breathing. "Woods ahead," he said. "Great. I could use some shade; the sun is pretty harsh today. Still don't understand why you picked this trail of all places."

"This trail is amazing!" Yara cried. "It's one of my absolute favorite easy-rated trails." Casey scoffed. "You know, one moment you're in the woods, one moment you're in a field, one moment you're by the river. There's a lot of different experiences here, and something surprising happens every time I walk this trail."

"It is beautiful here," Casey said. "I'll give you that. Let's take a quick break once we get into the woods, alright? My feet are killing me; I wanna pop my boots off for a few minutes."

"Yeah, alright," Yara said. "But don't take your boots off. If your feet are swollen at all, and I bet they are, it's better to keep them on. They're gonna be a bitch to get back on if you take them off."

"It'll be fine," Casey said as they crossed into the canopy and, at last, some shade. They continued deeper into the woods until they found a large rock near the path that they could rest on. Casey climbed on top of it, then reached down and helped Yara up. They sat next to each other, looking out into the woods. Yara pulled a bottle of water out of her pack and took a few drinks. Casey tugged his boots off with great effort while Yara shook her head.

"I won't say I told you so," she said.

"You won't have to," he replied with a smile. He sat back and looked up at the sky, stretching his aching back and shoulders.

"We need to talk about it, you know."

"I know," he said. "I'm just not ready right now. There's too many what-ifs. We've still got time."

"Not too much time. There's a lot involved in it. Paperwork, health screenings, family history checks. It sometimes takes people years to finalize. We're thirty-two now; we've realistically got six months, max. What are the chances that someone else is going to come along?"

"Not that high, okay, but maybe," Casey said. "And I mean, I'm worried that we would just mess it up somehow."

"How long have you known me? Twenty-seven years at this point? And you’re really worried about that? I don't want either of us to miss our chance." Yara sighed. "Look, I just... I guess I'm saying that the ball's in your court. We can talk about it later."

Casey nodded.

"Let's head out," Yara said. "I still wanna get a good time today." She smiled faintly at Casey, who smiled back. His smile quickly turned into a grimace as he struggled to pull on his boots, while Yara's smile grew a bit.

"I said I wouldn't say it," she said as she jumped down from the rock and went back to the trail.

"I said... you wouldn't... have to!" he grunted as he barely managed to slide his unlaced boots back onto his feet. He stuffed the laces into his boots before jumping down next to Yara.

"I'm impressed," she said, continuing along the trail with Casey right behind. Soon, the brush closed in on the trail, and the two were walking almost blindly as small branches brushed their bare arms gently with each step they took.

"Okay, this is really cool," Casey said. "Like, breathtaking."

"Here, you go in front," Yara said, pushing herself into the brush to let Casey pass. "Get the full experience."

Casey walked past Yara and continued forward, looking back and forth to the dark green walls on either side of him. "It's like going through a hedge maze that was also made to really mess with claustrophobic people," he said with a little laugh.

Just as Casey came to a sharp left in the trail, the green wall directly in front of him began to rustle and shudder. Without warning, a deer burst forth from the brush and found himself face to face with Casey.

Both Casey and the deer froze. They stared into each other's eyes, both wanting the same thing. But each unaware of the other's thoughts, they both stood paralyzed in indecision and fear.