Fear the Nobodies: Part Twenty-Six

>Fire is mammal’s oldest friend

>The stars that lit the primitive night skies refused to fall into your hands

>Imperially above, their fixture in the sky brought no warmth

>Lighting the world was a task that burdened the moon and the sun alone

>And then, in black wilds of neolithic Earth…

>…there was fire

>Fire stood alone against the spangled signs and stars of the old gods

>A slap in the face to a three billion years of darkness

>The fire we held

>The fire we commanded

>The fire that brought us together

>The group assembles outside the church, the rustbucket’s headlights cleaving apart the dusk

>The light throw five shadows against the walls of the church

>Five giants, deliberating the birth of fire

“How are we doing this?” You look at the others, lost, “Mike, weren’t you a boy scout for awhile?”

>“Fuck off.”

“Right, that’s what I thought…”

>Sam shrugs his shoulders, tucking his hands into his hoodie pocket

>Jenna’s gaze flits around nervously, predatory eyes hardly able to pierce such unnatural darkness

>Alex stares placidly into the the forest, weighing his katana on his shoulder

>His eyes are narrow slits

“Alex?”

>No response

“You were the one who suggested a bonfire. Do you have any idea how we can get this going?”

>“Yo, comrade,” Mike says, waving a palm in front of Alex’s face, “are you still with us?”

>No response

>“Does he do this a lot?” Jenna says, “Because it looks like he’s going through war flashbacks.”

>“Yeah, the battle of him versus his mom and dad over the allowance budget,” Mike snickers

>In place of words, Alex channels millions of years of evolution through his body, a lightning rod of ancestral purpose

>Suddenly, Alex bolts into the surrounding woods, his spindly legs carrying him like a spooked trophy buck into the woods

>Mike jumps back in surprise

>Darkness swallows Alex, digesting him in a stomach lined with thorn brush and brittle branches

>Stillness follows

>Silence, too

>Maybe a few seconds have elapsed, but you’re all sure he’s not coming back

>Mike opens his mouth to speak until Sam interrupts him

>“W-W-Wait!” Sam croaks, “S-S-Someone’s m-moving in the t-t-trees…”

>Sam takes a step back, unintentionally bumping against you

>Or intentionally

>It’s likely Sam know it’s just Alex making a lot of noise

>His heart, however, expects the hoveled figured of father to emerge from the brush, gun-toting and drunk with hate

>But instead of collision with destiny, Alex emerges from the dark like a hero of legend, the katana slung over his shoulder, an armload of shattered branches and logs pressed against his shirt with one hand

“Good work, comrade!” You say, clapping, “A regular Paul Bunyan with the sword my man.”

>Breathing hard, set upon his task like a pit bull in a kindergarten classroom, Alex drops the haul off in a clattering pile at your feet

>“I don’t know who that is,” he tightens his beanie around his skull, “but I want to burn things. I got the fuel, so you and miss egghead over there figure out how to make fire.”

>“Me? Egghead?” Sam and Jenna both say, their voices unified

>Jenna cocks her head at Sam, confused

>The rabbit chooses to smile politely and snivel an apology, a blush high in his cheekbones

>He retreats back against you with all the force of a whiffle ball

>Feeling out of touch with your heterosexuality of late, you help Alex snap some of the smaller branches in two, tossing the victims into a tight pile at the foot of the church’s steps

>The wind limps its way into a light breeze as you finish constructing the timber pile

>“Wow, Alex,” Mike says, standing over the shattered lumber, “you really brought the whole forest with you bro.”

>If that was sarcasm, Alex didn’t hear it

>Or couldn’t understand it

>Alex paces in the dark, walking an anxious line into the asphalt

>He occasionally flicks brooding glances over the hood of your car, eyes fixed on the vacant dark that%apos;s become your tinder pile

“The only question now: how do we light a ‘forest’ on fire?” You cluck, eyes wandering to your rustbucket, humming in idle

>There’s a cigarette lighter built into the car – the type that heats metal coils with the engine

>If you smoked, you might have used it… once

>But now, you’ve got a much better use for the lighter

>“At least something on your car works,” Mike remarks, bored in the passenger seat of the rustbucket

“Hey, it gets us around town. You can complain when you’ve got your own car back,” you say, pressing the cigarette lighter into its slot

>Instead of arguing, Mike sighs, defeated, and saunters back over to your crummy pile of sticks and logs grumbling something about getting his car back and driving it up your ass

>You look out the spider-webbed front windshield as Jenna and Mike fall easily into conversation

>Sam looks lost

>Alone

>Small in the cold October night

>A metallic POP draws your attention away from the group

“You’re done cooking,” you mutter, grinning at your own quick thinking

>When you look up again, Jenna and Mike are still talking

>Sam…

>…Sam stares directly at you, terrified of the sound

“Check THIS out,” you say, holding your car’s cigarette lighter out to the group like a captured trophy

>Its coils glow red with intense heat

>Jenna leans forward and examines your solution, remarking that it could work

>Mike lights a joint with it as proof that it does

>Alex still paces, impatient

>Sam, on the other hand, does not want to see the lighter, or even look at it

>The second he heard the lighter pop out of its tray, he looked spooked, like a wild animal about to get shot

>Or worse

>Ignoring Sam, who sits on the fringes of the circle gathered around your ‘fire’, you heap everything Alex gathered into a loose, brown assortment on the concrete stoop outside the church

>You press the small lighter into a pile of grass and twigs sitting underneath a shitty ‘tepee’ of larger timbers

>All it takes is a small spark to burn a great forest

>However, all your efforts produce are some curled black strands of grass

>You sigh in annoyance

>At least the wind stopped

>You hunch over the pile with the lighter and mash the tip into the most brittle pile of grasses you can find…

>…and you fail once more to create fire

>Everyone – minus Sam – stands around the unborn fire, waiting for your shitty little pile of twigs and dredged up logs to spark up and become…

>…anything other than a puff of weak smoke

>“Good job there, ranger Anon,” Mike laughs after your third failed attempt

“Look, how about you do better?” You snarl, “I’m trying my best here, and I don’t have a lot to work with.”

>As you hunch over the fuel, you can feel the Book of Rite like a flat, square pancake in your breast pocket

>Maybe…

>…maybe you don’t need the lighter?

>Holding the Book of Rite open, you skim the parking lot and find what you were looking for

>A broken beer bottle – the leavings of some irresponsible teenagers coming up here to drink

“Here goes nothing,” you sigh, standing over the tinder

>You slide back the sleeve on your hoodie

>Sam’s eyes wander to your wrist…

>…and then explode from their sockets, when you delicately trace the broken beer bottle across your skin

>“A-A-Anon, w-w-what are you d-d-doing?” He says, terrified, “Y-You’re gonna g-g-g-get hurt…”

>You hesitate, and shift focus to him

“Well, I’m not getting any blood from whatever I’m doing, that’s for sure,” you smile softly, terrified of what you’re about to do

>C’mon Anon, just do it

>You even found a page about starting a fire

>It was near the beginning; simple beginner spells for your amateur wizard

>Simpler than curing Mike’s condition, you hope

>You SO beautifully pulled that off the last time you tried to use this book

>You pull in a lung full of cold air

>You ask yourself, in all your experiences watching Vanessa doing this…

>…there’s a RIGHT way, and a WRONG way to do this

>So which is which?

>“It goes DOWN the street, not across the lane,” Mike says casually

>“Hey, don’t be an asshole!” Jenna snarls, as she scores Mike across the arm with her claws

>The vampire – surprisingly unable to dodge the attack – stumbles back, clutching his ‘wound’

>“Hey! Watch it with the claws, snapjaw! What the hell was that for?” He protests

>Mike rubs at his arm, his ministrations producing no blood – only scratch marks, red lines against his white skin

>You shrug

>If you know Mike – and unfortunately you do – he’s only ‘playfully’ attempting to get you to kill yourself

>Nice try, Michael

>Do the opposite of what Mike says, always

>You putt he glass to your skin

>“P-Please b-b-be careful,” Sam whimpers

>He tugs at his ears like he’s ringing a bell

“Sam, watch your ears,” you sigh

>Sometime Sam’s like a little kid

>Poor guy is going to tear his ears off

>Sam doesn’t listen to your command, so you try a comforting lie

“Don’t worry about all this, I know what I’m doing. I’m basically a professional,” you smile

>“Professional emo,” Mike snickers

>This earns him another swat from Jenna

>You try smile at Sam, because you’re not going to be able to watch your skin slit open

>Well, here goes nothing

>The longer you drag this out, the less likely you are to actually do it

>Just

>Fuckin’

>DO IT

>You slide the glass shard ACROSS your wrist, not DOWN it

>The pain is immediate, sharp, and localized to your wrist

>Why did you agree to do this!?

>Gulps of vomit rise to your throat, which you swallow back down in gasps

>After a few deeper lesions across the ol’ wrist, your veins relent

>Mike’s neck snaps in your direction like a dog finding a squirrel in its yard

>Bright drops of crimson seethe from your skin

>You then turn your arm over, letting your wrist empty onto the pages of the old book you’ve laid at your feet

>There’s a sudden flare of light and heat that forces you to retract your arm away the kindling

>A blaze roars upwards borne of branches and logs, throwing your heavy shadows onto the fading white paint of the church

>Jenna claps rapidly

>“Way to go, Anon!” She beams

>Sam leans in close and watches as you nurse a light wound on your wrist with your hoodie

>Mike does the same, just inches from your wrist

>Like slavs, you squat on your hams besides the fire, Alex mindlessly feeding sticks or scraps of notebook paper into the blaze

>You and Alex both watch, hypnotized by the reaching tongues of flame that lap agaisnt the dark sky

>Above, the moon hangs like a guillotine

>Another night with another full moon, huh?

>Another night closer to Friday

>Your phone’s clock reads eleven-thirty pm, on a Tuesday

>You look over at Sam, who, despite his heavy, ratty clothing, is wracked with shivers

>He holds his little paws close to the fire

>The night’s cold and cruel, and there’s not a lot of meat on his bones to begin with

>Sam’s a hungry skelly

>Do you… do the thing?

>You know, the thing you always see in those dumb teen movies?

>…

>You slip out of your hoodie, leaving only your shirt clinging to you

>Silently, you drape your hoodie over Sam’s trembling body

>He squeaks and looks up at you, bewildered, unable to believe he’s worthy of such charity or kindness

>You’re… not…

>…you’re not kind…

>Goddamnit!

>You’re a coward, one who swings his own insecurities and shortcomings around like a flail

>But now, there’s something inside of you that can’t stand to see him so cold and forgotten

>“T-Thank you,” he whispers, his voice broken by the snapping fire

“Don’t mention it,” you say in a hush voice

>Nobody saw that, right?

>Doesn’t appear that way

>Mike and Jenna’s orbits seemed to have eclipsed

>Together on the asphalt, inches apart that to you appears to be microscopic, but to them…

>…it could be as wide as the gulf of stars that separates Vega from Altair

>Mike looks like he’s pouting, with his arms folded across his chest, gaze focused on the steeling black around you

>Oh that’s just precious

>But he’s not pouting, not at all

>The sheet of porcelain skin, stretched across Mike’s pouting face…

>…it’s GLOWING red

>Like a paper lantern, except it’s flames are fed by a crush

>Sam eases himself down until he’s sitting

>He glances nervously between yourself and Mike, like an actor who mixed up his lines

>You drop down onto the asphalt next to him, your knees touching

>That’s not… gay… right?

>Sam’s body slackens when you’re next to him – as if your presence alone sucked out all of the gravity keeping his body rigid

>You let out a heavy sigh

>Watching all the tension leave Sam somehow undoes the stitch holding all of your anxiety in too

>Not gay

>NOT GAY

>Alex remains standing, alone, perhaps even unaware that the party’s on the asphalt now

>His eyes are empty glass, save for the reflection of the open flame

>The lights are on, but when there’s fire, nobody’s home

>“I-Is A-Alex o-okay?” Sam says, pointing at Alex’s looming figure

“Yeah, he’s fine,” you say, perhaps too casually, as if explaining how your car’s check engine light comes on whenever you put too many people in the back, “he did this when we showed him Legos for the first time. I recognize the look.”

>Sam cocks his head, a shock of brown hair falling over his face, ears tipping like heavy pendulums

>The look of ‘huh?’

>Okay, now you’re genuinely in disbelief

“Sam, don’t look at me like you don’t know what Legos are. I know you’re messing with me now.”

>Distressed, Sam says, “Y-Y-You j-just made up th-that name, th-though! I don’t know Wh-What a L-Lego is, h-honest!”

>You smirk, wide and stupid

>You need to bring Alex back to planet Earth, and you have a plan for Sam’s little ‘prank’

>It’s not enough that you should succeed

>Both of them should also fail

“Yo, comrade! Grab a seat,” you say as you aim a finger towards the unoccupied space around the fire, “dance tonight, revolution tomorrow. Come, explain to this little rabbit how Legos are made.”

>Alex’s eyes flash, as if struck with sudden lightning

>You pull Sam tight against you, shoulders knocking together, only a squeak of protest out of the rabbit

>You’d leave it up to a coin toss on whether or not Sam truly is ignorant in the ways of Danish plastics…

“He doesn’t even know what Legos are!” You gleam

>…but you don’t care

“W-W-Wait, A-Anon-” Sam protests

>His shy pleading isn’t enough to stop Alex from appearing at Sam’s right, a deadly-serious look in his eyes

>All you can do is smile and stare at the fire

>Your intentions are more noble than one would think

https://youtu.be/u0STmox8mIc

>You checked out of that conversation about Legos a long time ago

>Sam will have to fend for himself for now

>And you think he can do it

>He’s a lot stronger than he knows

>He’ll be alright

>Watching Sam take his first, clumsy steps into the arms of your friends is a rare type of beauty

>It’s not something you’ll have the chance to see again

>Like a comet that grazes the Earth’s atmosphere, only once in a lifetime; a privilege belonging to a generation whose gaze – for once in history – fixes upon the same night sky

>Believing, all at once, that your eyes can guide that comet down to Earth

>You point your attention up

>Bands of stars wash across night sky

>The clouds are a fading echo; the final gasp of a tempest that now marches east

>Cold moonlight filters between drifting clouds like a vulture picking over bloated carcasses floating downstream

>You squint, parsing the endless white sea of stars

>Can you see a comet? What do they look like?

>Taken as landscape, the world above is static and unmoving

>But when you shift focus – paint in portraits – the sky is alive with motion

>Asteroids grind against the exosphere

>Dissolve into principle elements

>Becoming shooting stars

>Alex prattles on intently

>Sam stutters out meek questions here or there

>You’re happy

>You can say that at last

>You want Sam to have friends

>And you want your friends to treat Sam like he’s part of the group now

>The heat of the fire radiates off your cheekbone

>All of this was a good idea, you think

>Wet leaves, like sheets of orange and brown construction rustle across the parking lot

>You’ve been so close to death and dismemberment lately, you’ve forgotten to enjoy the holiday season

>Today, getting your ass beat by Mike..

>…betraying Gloria…

>…the only thing ‘Halloween’ about any of this weeks has been the decorations

>You’ve a better understanding of Sam’s approach

>This is probably another week of school at the end of October for him

>Hell, it would shock you to find out that he celebrated any holiday at all

>No Christmas

>Fourth of July

>Easter

>That fact sits uneasy with you – like seeing a bird with its wings clipped, struggling on the ground

>You turn to look at Sam, who is trapped in deep conversation with Alex

>Sam is distressed, knees tight against his chest like he’s about to roll away

>Like Sonic

>A grin warms on your face

>He’s trying his best to fit in, with what little tools he has to do so

>Sam needs a rescue

“Hey, do you guys want to hear some scary stories?” You probe, embarrassed, “You know, for old time’s sake? I may have picked up a new one.”

>Scary stories? You’re all legally adults now

>Why would a bunch of angsty teenagers want to hear some scary stories?

>Sam’s face lights up with a smile

>“Hell yeah, man, been a long time since I heard any good one!” Alex beams, “The specter of capitalism was a lot less frightening than I thought it’d be.”

“That’s just a concept from the book ‘The Communist Manifesto,’” you remind him, “I don’t think it was meant to be literal.”

>“Ah, yeah. Right. Great read. Not very scary, though,” Alex says

>You sigh – not an unhappy, exhausted sigh – but a warm release of happy memories, a flower exhaling pollen

>You love Alex but he’s helpless without you

>Sam squeaks up, his small voice drawing everyone’s attention

>“I-I want to h-hear a scary s-s-story,” he says

>You grin at the rabbit, his honeyed eyes catching the firelight like mirrors

“Alright, bunny, you want to hear some scary stories?”

>You crack your knuckles like you’re about to thrust an arm through the concrete and rip out the pipes beneath you

“I’ll give you a scary story.”

>You fight a satisfied grin as you jot your last yarn shut

>“Scary, huh, Sam?” Alex says, shivering from the cold (or fear)

>By the time your story concludes, Sam is huddled up next to you, involuntarily wrapping both arms around your right hand…

>…shivering in fright

>The rabbit’s amber eyes sweep around the darkness that surrounds your dwindling fire, searching for something that’s not there

>A horrible monster?

>The man with the hook for a hand, waiting to gut little rabbits and hang them in his basement?

>Something worse; something older and more potent

>Some shape in the woods whose name he can’t speaks

>The rabbit shakes his head violently

>“N-No…” he says, fighting the tremor in his voice

>You shoot him a friendly smirk0

>“C’mon, Sam. You can say if you’re scared,” you laugh, extending an olive branch to the gun-shy rabbit, “those stories used to scare us all a TON when we were young.”

>The rabbit’s body goes still at that

>He looks up at you

>“Y-You get s-scared?” He says

>If only he knew what kind of sick coward you still are

>If only he could see the fear you nurse in your heart

“Yeah, actually, I do. I get scared a lot,” you say, softly

>The fire snaps and hisses; its lapping flames reflect in Sam’s huge eyes staring up into your own

>He looks… spellbound?

>As if his body is screaming, ‘if Anon can do it, I can do it too.’

>Your heart throws itself against your ribs, a wild animal trapped in its cage

>Sam’s earnest look is so captivating that you don’t notice when Mike grabs your car keys

>However, instead of driving off like a dickhead, Mike wanders back into the retreating light of the fire, Sam’s baseball bat resting easy against his shoulder

>He holds a few dusty old beer bottles by their necks – the fallen soldiers of a night, long ago, spent with yourself, Alex, and Mike, drinking away those beers

>Months ago

>“You know what might take your mind off Anon’s shitty story?’” Mike says, crouching to Sam’s level

>The rabbit hangs onto your arm like a man tied to the mast of a sinking ship

>“Some batting practice,” Mike grins an evil grin

>You and Alex feed the fire for a bit longer

>Sleep begins to weigh heavy across your whole body, like a weighted blanket

>What a fucking day

>The fire’s light stretches further, painting your tall shadows across the front entrance of the old church again

>As you work, you sneak concerned glances at Mike, Sam, and Jenna

>Sam stands a good twenty feet away from Mike, his two small hands curled around the base of the aluminum bat that once belonged to his brother

>Jenna huddles over Sam, adjusting the rabbit’s grip with tender paws

>“Okay, so you hold it like this,” she says as she slides Sam’s hands a little further up the metal cylinder

>“And when Mike throws the bottle at you, I want you to pretend like you’re swinging THROUGH it. You got that?”

>“G-Got it,” Sam confirms, “h-how do you kn-know h-how do to d-do this? A-Aren’t you li-like a genius?”

>The vixen chokes on her flattered laughter

>“Genius? No, no. I played softball for eight years, and I’m still as unathletic as they come,” Jenna smiles

>“Well,” Mike calls from a distance, “I’ve never played a sport. You mammals ready to see what the words ‘generational talent’ look like?”

>The empty bottle is loose between Mike’s fingers, capturing the light of the flames

>As if the bonfire were refilling those bottles

>Jenna then steps away from Sam, leaving the bunny an isolated figure in the fringes of the firelight, accompanied only by his shadow, ten feet tall

>“R-Ready!” Sam barks, unsure

>Without warning, Mike steps into his throw, hurling his arm forward, his body following with a controlled burst of power

>The empty bottle sails end-over-end through the air, flashing with winks of light

>The rabbit pulls his arms back, bringing the bat with him, his small body tensing up like a compressed spring

>In a wink, Sam hurls his arms forward, sweeping the bat across his body in a tight arc

>The follow through is smooth

>Clean

>With a PFIF, The bottle explodes out of the the air, showering the dark asphalt in a crust of broken glass

>You exhale a held breath

>Wait, were you holding your breath?

>Sam’s shoulders slump forward

>He relaxes his grip on the bat, and drags a lungful of cold ait into his shuddering body

>Mike’s jaw drops open

>“Holy shit, Sam! Did you used to play baseball or something?” Mike calls, “that must have been at least eighty-miles-per-hour.”

>“No it wasn’t!” Alex protests, but is shut down with a look from Mike

>Sam holds the bat in front of him, as if astonished at his own capacity

>“N-No, I never pl-played a sport,” he says, trying to smile, “but I w-w-watched my b-brother smash up old cars w-w-w-with this bat a-a lot…”

>Sam’s voice trails off, his golden eyes finding yours, as if asking for approval

>You nod, slowly

>Vandalism is bad ass

>Mike readies another bottle, and assumes a pitcher’s stance

>“Alright, dude, then this one is coming in hot. Last time, I went easy on you. This time, no mercy,” he says

>Sam jumps into a ready stance, lifting his shoulders, raising the bat high, glancing at the positioning of his fingers and adjusting according to Jenna’s instructions

>The bat wobbles with unsteady grace

>It might be too heavy for him

>Mike doesn’t wait for a ready signal

>He lunges into a merciless throw

>The bottle hurtles forward again, turning end-over-end in the firelight…

>…and becomes a million, tiny fragments when Sam swings through it

>Jenna claps her hands together in surprise again

>“Good swing, Sam!”

>No fucking kidding

>You don’t want to be on the receiving end of Sam’s bat any time soon

>Sam’s eyes crack open, little by little

>He looks around at the glittering fragments of glass enclosed around his small body

>“I-I did it?” He says, as if unsure, as if the proof wasn’t in a million pieces at his feet

>“You absolutely crushed it!” Jenna squeals, excited

>Mike limps to the fire, body slack, a scowl burnt onto his features

>“Yeah, ‘nice hit’, Thumper,” he grumbles

>Sore loser

>The fire reduces to a weak smolder

>The beer bottles are all gone

>You, Sam, Alex and Mike, and Jenna watch the smoke drift into the inky-black sky, and then disappear against the moon, as if swallowed up

>Everyone shivers in the cold

>Even Sam, who is wearing your hoodie on top of his hoodie

>“So…” Mike starts, “I’m going to be sleeping in your car, right?” He looks towards you as he suffocates embers of the fire with the heels of his shoes

>“Me getting inside the church is no-go right now, and I’m sure as shit not sleeping outside.”

>Well, he’s already got your keys, so why is he asking your permission?

>Maybe he is, at last, trying to be nice

>You get the sense that Mike may have been going easy on Sam, too

“As long as you don’t drive off in the middle of the night,” you warn him, though you know your words won’t be enough

>Still, the formality is nice of him to offer

>The rest of you end up back inside the church, heaving blankets inside from your car

>Your eyes are as heavy as water, and the comparative warmth of the church’s interior isn’t helping you stay awake

>The gravity of sleep feels especially heavy now

>Jenna and Alex lay down on pews, pillowing their hands underneath their heads, ratty blankets across their bodies

>You sit down in a pew yourself, the old timbers creaking beneath your weight

>You plan to stay awake as long as you can to keep watch over those oak doors

>Unthinking, Sam hops up on the seat next to you, and leans his heavy head on your arm, body slackening

>Is it just you… or is Sam acting even gayer lately?

>All this touching and grabbing, the bold looks directed your way…

>You feel something stir in the curled ashes of your heart

>It’s almost a normal thing nowadays between the two of you

>Your about to close your eyes and surrender to the great oblivion, when you hear a pew creaking

>Jenna – a few rows down – sits up, nose wrinkling, scenting the dark

>“That smell…” she says in a half-dream, glancing around the dark church in a daze

>Her green eyes narrow on Sam

>The bunny doesn’t seem to notice Jenna’s predatory glow, his own eyes already failing to open

>“Nah… it couldn’t be,” Jenna mumbles

>She hums, lost in thought, and then says something beneath your range of hearing

>Sam doesn’t even twitch

>Jenna then lowers herself back against the pews to back to sleep

>You inhale deeply through your nose to see if you can get a day pass into the world of anthros

>You know, smell what Jenna and Sam do on the day-to-day?

>Only a slight mustiness from the church itself reaches you

>It smells kind of sour, like sweat on a warm body

>Well, it’s not like any of you have showered in the last couple of days

>And you don’t even want THINK about the last time Sam bathed

>Do anthros give themselves tongue baths?

>Ewwww

>The thought of Jenna licking Sam down shakes you awake

>Damn! You were close to oblivion there

>Oh, the places your mind goes when you’re on sleep’s doorstep

>Unconsciously, you reach your arm around Sam and pull him in against you for warmth

>The bunny doesn’t tense or squeak

>Instead, he nuzzles up against you, cooing in his drowse

>You look down at him, smiling

>Yep, Sam is definitely aslee-

>“Y-You smell g-good,” he whispers, voice small in the expansive dark

>…

>Okay so he’s not asleep

>He must be in purgatory, a middle ground where you sleep none, but wake little

>Blushing, you thank Sam for the compliment

>What the hell are you supposed to even say to that?

>The bunny doesn’t respond

>You hear Alex’s snores a few rows over

>As usual, Alex is indifferent to where he sleeps

>You lay your head against the back of the pew and try to find some comfort, the weight of a single person clinging to your arm

>You allow your eyes to flutter shut

>And sleep is within your grasp…

>…until a mechanical blast fills the church with noise

>A train, on the tracks at the bottom of the hill, blasts its horn

>Sam blinks himself awake

>At once the tranquilized muscles of Sam stiffen with fear

>His grip on your arm tightens until it hurts

>It’s only a train – no need to get so worked up about it

>That’s what you want to say

>Instead, you say nothing at all

>You hold Sam tighter while the train rolls on

>You swear, the building is shaking

>Foundations shift hard

>Old dust is loosened in great puffs

>Wild crows that gather on the roof wing off into the sky

>A minute later, the train passes by in the night, leaving stillness and silence in its wake

>Sam tries to relax himself, his body and muscles slackening into the crook of your arm

>He’s shaking still

>You pull him tighter, trying to comfort him

>“S-Sorry, I-” he starts

“Shhh, you don’t have to explain,” you say, shushing the rabbit

>You lay your head back against the pew

>Sam snuggles up against your side, still shaking with little tremors that subside with the soft rising and falling of his chest

>Your eyes fall shut

>You stare at the pinks behind your eyelids, fighting frantic mind and memory for a chance at rest

>Eventually, you can no longer pay attention to the arguments in your head

>They all fall away

>Alex

>Mike

>Jenna

>And finally, Sam

>Leaving you, the last to drift off to sleep

Young Cardinals

They abandoned his voice,
a derelict building;
the red heart of
struggling factory towns.
His plea
‘help me,’
bleached white,
a lonely echo of
mortar
flaking from walls,
a crimson tempest which
baptizes crows
into cardinals

A poem for Sam, written by Oliver Hart

Oliver Hart

Author of Foxing, Leaves of Fall, Liquid Courage, Beating the Heat, A Red Winter, Weber’s Gambit, and many other stories. He primarily writes hmofa, but dabbles in most genres. Interests include, writing, reading, technology, and music.

Stories: Foxing, The Leaves of Fall