Something That Matters: Part Two

Sam Plush by YaBoiMikeDraws

>After signing off on a brief investigation into your car, you realize you don’t actually know where Mike is

>He’s sure as shit not dozing in the back seat

>The ghost of Mike’s presence – an old jacket that was once a blanket, some freshly killed beers that you didn’t realize were still in your car – clings to your vehicle like pot smoke

>Because it smells like pot, too

>Instead, you spot the lone silhouette of a short human, standing with his back turned some thirty yards into the surrounding forest

“I’ll be right back,” you assure Jenna

>You approach the lone figure through the woods in relative silence, until you’re close enough to confirm that the silhouette indeed belongs to Mike Sapone

>“Ahhhhhh,” Mike sighs in relief

>He then pisses on a dwarf juniper bush like he was putting out a fire

>There are abandoned mines honeycombing the hills outside of town that get more traffic than the old white oak door church

>You don’t blame Mike for lowering his guard out here

>You’re about to interrupt, when you hear Mike start to speak

>“Your heartbeat sounds like a little school girl’s, ya know,” he says, pausing mid-stream with almost mechanical precision

>After failing to reply due to shock, Mike resumes his task without so much as even glancing over his shoulder

>“How do you think Anon would feel if he knew you were try catch a peek of my pork sword, Sam?”

>What the fuck?

>He thinks you’re SAM!?

>Mike laughs a confident, rehearsed laugh, still emptying his bladder

>“I get why Anon has such a boner over you – you’re basically a chick. You got these big doe-eyes, you got the voice of a girl, and you LOOK like a girl, bro. You’re like… a Thumpette, or something.”

>A blush scours your cheeks as you repeat the mantra, ‘I am not gay for Sam,’ like a silent prayer

>Because Mike is making some agreeable arguments

>“Look, I know you’re into human guys, but whatever fantasies you’re trying to live out by perving on me, save them for Anon. There’s only one fuzzy woman that’s got my eye, and despite all previous evidence to the contrary, you ain’t it, pal.”

>Zipppppp

>Your friend spins to face you, his face glowing, a self-assured thumb cocked towards his toothy smile

>“No femboy is powerful enough to trick me, Mike Muthafuckin’ Sapone, into becoming Mike BUTTfuckin’ Sapo-”

>Your eyes meet at last in the pale dawn…

>…and you swear…

>…you’ve never seen Mike so disappointed

>Neither of you speak for moment

>You suppress your innate need to force an explanation

>The truth – ‘I was only trying to find you’ – might work, right?

>Yet all you can say is, “Your fly is still down.”

>To that, Mike says, “I know.”

>Silence, save for the distant thrum of your heart in your skull, ticks out time in the milliseconds

>Mike sighs, his shoulders rolling forward, posture slackening

>“Having known you for an unfortunately long period of time, I assume you went looking for me, presumably to tell me something important-”

>You nod, unable to find words

>As if under a spell

>“-and you ended up watching me piss like a racehorse without saying anything… by accident?” Mike lets the question linger in the air like curls of smoke

“More of a courtesy, actually,” you admit, your own honesty surprising even yourself, “I didn’t think anyone could have that much pee in them.”

>Mike stares at you, bored, a conclusion drawn in the veins that spiderweb across the alabaster skin now stretched taut over his skull

>He signs an internal resignation

>“I see. Well, fair enough,” he says, “then we can agree that this never happened?”

>A smile warms your face (fuck it’s cold)

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say

>Mike nods and stamps the armistice-

>Ziiiiiippppp

>-shut

>“Anyway. What did you need to tell me?” He says

“Going on a store run. Is there anything important that I can pick up?”

>“No, but I’m going with you,” he says, all-too-casually

“That’s a negatory, M-unit,” you shake your head, “Watership Down needs you on security detail.”

>“The hell are you talking about? What the hell is ‘Watership Down’?” Mike says, incredulous

“It’s what I named the white oak door church. I thought ‘home base’ was lame,” you say, confidence in your position shrinking before you can will yourself into silence

>You’ve stumbled – all on your own – into the classic heterosexual blunder of ‘showing your hand too early’

>Mike thinks for a moment, then says, “Watership Down – that’s an old book, right? The one about the rabbits who kill each other?”

>A defeated sigh hisses out of you

“I didn’t think you’d remember that one,” you groan

>Mike is taken aback, almost offended

>“What? Dude, shut up. I loved that book. It’s probably your best rec yet. I loved how violent it is for a kid’s book.”

>Though your heterosexuality about to take some abuse, you manage a limp, watery smile

“You really liked it?” Your voice stretches through the cold, carried on the embers of a faint hope

>“That’s really gay. You’re gay,” Mike says in response “I can’t believe you renamed ‘Fort Sapone’ in honor of your boyfriend. Gay.”

>Your hands curl into angry fists, and your jaw strains with an evolutionary need to curse out your buddy

“Well now you definitely can’t go with me!” You shout, “And we’re definitely not calling it ‘Fort Sapone’ – you can’t even get through the fucking doors!”

>Mike rolls his eyes, his snarl filtered through a register between mud and mold

>“Why the hell not? You’re not being ‘pissy’ about earlier, are you?” He squawks, “If you take the car, how am I supposed to stay warm? I had to idle it all night last night to avoid hypothermia.”

>You release an annoyed groan, your protest evaporating into a cloud of steam

>So THAT’s why you’re almost out of gas

“Because, I’m going to the Shop N’ save, and Jenna said you can’t go back there.”

>He waves his hand, dismissing Jenna’s valid concerns like he’s dismissing a cloud of gnats, “That vixen has no idea what she’s talking about – they love me there!” He says, far too confident for you to believe, “If it’ll make you feel better, you can lock me in the car when you go in. Just leave the heater on, ya know, toddler style.”

>You nearly choke

“Toddler style?” You parrot, unsure whether to laugh or call Child Protection Services

>“Yeah, you know when you have an annoying toddler, so you lock ‘em in the car and turn on the heat for an hour?”

>Your eyes widen in disbelief

>Mike flinches at this, and storms back on the defensive

>“Don’t look at me like that, Anon. I’m sure your parents did it to you, too,” he scoffs

>You’re too stunned to speak

>There’s no way he’s being serious

>“It’s totally normal! It- It builds very important skills!” Mike cries

>Oh God

>He’s serious

“Listen, bro, my parents did this to me and my sister all the time, and now we both know something important.”

“How to air-fry a child’s brain?”

>“No, dude!” Mike protests, “Even if my sister somehow got out of the car first, she would usually close the door and lock me back in. I had only myself to rely on.”

>You pause, summoning a dramatic breath, folding your hands in desperate prayer

“Please say you’re joking with me, because this will completely change how I view you and your family from now on” you say, breathless

>“Shut up! Shut up and let me explain!” Mike roars on, a scarlet blush warming his face, “I had to learn to save myself, alright? Nobody ever let me out of the car – unless I passed out again.”

>Again?

>Holy shit

>The vampire’s gaze steels

>“It taught me freedom is always within reach – your mushy little toddler brain just has to learn to the operate the locks keeping you in. You adapt, or you cook.”

>…

>“I’m going with you, by the way,” Mike punctuates that little yarn of trauma by crossing his arms across his chest

>You’re so stunned, all you can say is, “Yeah… sure, whatever you need, dude.”

>If Mike senses you’re reeling from shock, he doesn’t show it

>Like his usual self, he storms forward, snapping through the brambles like a freight train

“Mike, if you’re not bullshitting me with all of that, I think… I think you were abused as a child,” you say, breathless

>Mike’s on a war path towards the parking lot

>“Not now, Herr doctor,” he says coldly, “only thing that’s gonna set me right is breakfast or some pussy.”

>He disappears into the back seat of your car

>A minute later, you find yourself throwing the rustbucket in reverse

>Mike stretches out across the length of your back seats, reminiscent of marble statues depicting Greek and Roman gods

>Seat belts: on

>Heater: dimed out

>And all you’re doing – engine humming – is staring into your rearview mirrors, at Mike’s eyes

>“C’mon, bro. You forget how to drive or something?” He says, turning to look through your rear windshield like a soldier peering over the top of his trench

>“Let’s burn some rubber before Jenna finds out I’m not accounted for during role call at Fort Sapone,” he commands

>You’ve only managed to bring the car to a slant angle by now

>The problem is, is that Mike’s eyes have this kind of magnetism about them

>You ease off the brakes and reflexively check your mirrors, as if under the belief that the lot is packed with phantoms

>You catch yourself hypnotized again while backing up

>“Uh-oh,” Mike says, peeling back from the rear windshield, “I can hear Jenna’s heartbeat closing in – fast. Go!”

>You stomp the gas and wheel the rustbucket around in a wide arc

>“C’mon man! Go!” Mike urges

“This thing turns like a fucking boat,” you grunt, grappling with the wheel as you angle the nose of the car forward

>“She’s headed for the road out!” Mike shrieks in an uncharacteristically high falsetto, “PUNCH IT!”

>He actually sounds… scared of Jenna

>Inertia whips your head forward as you crush the accelerator

>There’s a small break in the treeline, cut with asphalt, accented by a crooked stop sign

>You gun for the exit

>Your car screams across the lot, gliding through yards of broken glass like your wheels are tank tread and not rubber

“There’s that bent stop sign we need to stop at before we-”

>Mike nearly has a stroke in your back seat

>“FUCK THE STOP SIGN! Are you serious!? Roll on through!” He shrieks, “Go, go, go!”

>And you’re about to do just that, when Mike – attuned to the quiet speech of a mammal’s heart – practically hurls himself over your center console, one skeletal finger trembling, its yellow nail turned forward at an orange, white, gray, and blue smear materializing in your windshield

>“STOP!” Mike screams

>Don’t gotta tell you twice

>You crush the brake pedal as hard as you can, car still barreling forward

>Calipers and rotors engage

>Your tires scream like they’ve been stabbed

>They might as well have been

>Behind you is a trail of your proof that tried to stop – four black slashes in the dark asphalt, where chemistry gave way to physics

>The rustbucket shudders to a halt right at the stop sign, and you let out a gasp you didn’t know you held

>Jenna raps on your driver-side window with force, like a cop that finally ran a drunk driver off the road

>You jump, nearly shot out of your seat like Sam stumbling over a landmine

>You wheel down the glass just a slit

“How can I help you today, officer?” You say, voice shaking

>“Give up the other human,” she gasps, breathless from literally outrunning a car, “it’s not safe for him to go to the Shop N’ Save. He knows he’s not allowed.”

>Mike – coiled against the rear-passenger door like a bundled cobra, spits his defense like venom

>“There is NO WAY in hell I’m going stand out in the cold while you two girls go buy tampons or whatever!”

>“Get. Out.” Jenna demands

>“Hell. No!” Mike replies

>“Fine!” Jenna roars, as she stomps over to your rear-driver side door

>She hurls the door open with such force that you swear the whole car moves a couple inches

>“Then I’m going with you!” She declares, planting herself firmly in the small mote of cushion left by Mike

>Jeanna slams her door shut; your car shudders like a struck bell

>“No fucking way,” Mike groans, “whyyyy? Why do you have to go with us?”

“Guys-” you start, throwing the car in drive

>“Because, Mike, I know the first thing you’re going to do is storm right into the Shop N’ Save, and get yourself arrested. You think your face – and probably Alex’s, too – isn’t wallpaper at that store by now?”

>To be honest, you really don’t think the rustbucket could contain Mike anyway

>He’s like a dog chasing cars

“Hey, we need to-” You say, voice a featherweight in a battle between titans

>“C’mon, that’s just stupid. I’m way more covert than that. They’d never even know I was in there.”

>Jenna opens her mouth to deliver a verbal right-hook, but you beat her to the punch…

>…by literally punching the steering wheel, your horn blaring like the car itself is in pain

>The bickering stops immediately as vampire and vixen shield their ears

>Total K.O.

“If the two of are you QUITE finished, I’d like to get this done before school starts?”

>A pause

>And then, in submissive silence, Jenna leans back against the small island of fabric that is her seat, and clicks her seatbelt across her body

>Mike grumbles something and tries to stare out the window the whole time

>Brilliant threads of sunlight scorch through what remains of the cloud cover as you drive

>You listen to

https://youtu.be/WmgtRK4_l5Q

>Shops and houses lay still in the dawn, dreaming, set low and flat against their foundations like dozing elk with their legs folded beneath them

>You measure the distance traveled in the language of faux-spiderwebs stretched across green lawns; of mutilated pumpkins, insides gushing outwards like vomit

>Once you hit the part of town that has street lights, you start to count the cars that hum past you

>Six cars in ten minutes of driving…

>Ordinary life – motoring by with such purpose and speed – melds into the rest of the painting like wildlife, forever a feature of the canvas, but no more than oil paint like yourself

>…mathematically, that’s one car every minute

>You’ve got plenty of time to stock up at the Shop N’ save, eat breakfast, AND still get Sam to school

>Plus, it’s nice that your two passengers have managed to shut the fuck up for a bit

>Like two ends of a burning wick, they started the ride glaring out their respective windows

>But now, Mike looks exhausted and bored as he sneaks an occasional glance over at the fox

>Jenna’s ears flick in response to the music, but she otherwise makes no indication of acknowledging the world around her

>Solitude – even in the company of friends – does a heart good

>In truth, you’re as introverted as they come

>You keep a small crowd

>Your friends

>Your family

>Your short detours into having a social life

>And that’s it

>Most people probably think you’re boring

>Or shy

>Or, you’re really just afraid of people – a gutless coward at heart

>Over the past few days, you’ve proven yourself wrong

>A lot

>There’s a part of you coming back to life – a piece of you dead since late childhood

>That part of you repeats your new beliefs about yourself when you’re not paying attention

>Like the mind contemplating itself while the body sleeps

>‘You are patient’

>You flick on your turn signal and wheel your car into the Shop N’ Save lot

>‘You are intelligent’

>You coast into a parking spot near the front-entrance of the store

>‘Despite what you believe about yourself, you are brave’

>You cut the engine

>‘And you care deeply about those you love’

“Smells like Halloween out here” you say, stepping out of your car

>Indeed it does

>Apple and cinnamon

>Cardamom and cloves

>Damp Earth and rotting leaves

>Like someone left the world’s largest candle on

>Jenna hops out to scent the wind for herself

>“Hey!” Mike protests, “Why do you get to go in? They probably recognize you as much as they do me.”

>Jenna shoulders a small purse, and says, “Because, I didn’t duel a goth-lion in front of a whole crowd of people – and I look like any other customer,” she says

>“That’s bullshit, I don’t stand out that much,” Mike whines

>“You look like you’re made out of cream cheese,” Jenna replies

“Dude, nice,” you give Jenna a solid fist-bump

>“Besides, I need to pick up some scent masks and estrus blockers,” the fox continues, “and I doubt Anon knows what to look for.”

>You shrug, confirming Jenna’s sentiment

>You don’t know anything about the world of heat cycles and hiding scents

>You bathe daily (if you can), and you always use deodorant

>The world can ask no more of you

>Pumpkins stacked on hay bales line the outside of the store

>You and Jenna walk into the Shop ‘N Save together

>Both of you are assaulted by a wave of color – phosphorescent oranges, inky blacks, and enough plastic white skeletons to fill a graveyard

>Halloween banners crawl the length of the ceiling like angelic signals guiding you to the ‘seasonal’ aisle, which is your first stop

>When you get to the seasonal section, you see that the shelves are stuffed to bursting with peanut butter cups, chocolates, and candy bars

>You stuff a few bags under your arms as Jenna glowers disapprovingly at the ingredients

>After, the two of you reach the pharmacy,

>Jenna stops you with an arm

>“Holy hell,” she remarks, eyes wandering the barren shelves, “what happened to the stock?”

>The ‘feminine care’ section – where one might go for estrus blockers or scent masks – looks picked clean

>“Did they get robbed last night or something?” Jenna says, suddenly nervous

“Maybe it’s ‘that time of the year’ for the town or something?”

>The vixen shoots you a deadly look

>“It doesn’t work like that,” she growls, as she starts to check each shelf for stragglers

>You manage to swipe a lone bottle of pain pills off a high end-cap

>The bottle also advertises itself as a ‘fever-reducer’

>Perfect – this will set Sam straight

>Heh

>‘Straight’

>Oh! That’s right

>That little bunny deftly slipped through your netting

>You never got a proper answer to the ‘are you gay?’ question…

>And, if you’re being painfully honest, that same question about your own identity lingers in your mind like a dense cloud of unknowing

>You head to the checkout with Jenna, coaching yourself on what you’ve come to understand as ‘the truth’ about who you are

>You aren’t gay

>It just… doesn’t make any sense to you

>You’ve looked into psychological theories like repression; you%apos;ve consulted the mystics in your dreams; in one desperate measure, you threw a literal Hail Mary up there

>They all returned zero

>Sam doesn’t make your heart stutter because he’s a boy – it’s because he’s so…

>…un-like a boy?

>When you hold him against your chest, all five senses scream in unison ‘girl!’

>And sometimes, when he looks at you – if the light is slant just right – those honey-sweet eyes glow with a love so unsullied and pure, that you swear, you’ll break every finger of the hand that hurts him

>No other guy has ever owned a set of eyes like Sam

>Boys like him are a hidden danger

>They’re…

>…traps

>With a bag full of peanut butter cups, chocolates, various toiletries, a box of donuts, a gallon of iced coffee, and medicine for Sam, you pile back into your car and cruise up the hill to ‘Watership Down-’

>“Fort Sapone,” Mike says, correcting the narrator

>Right

>You sail back to ‘Home Base’ as the morning light pours out onto the road like a long-overdue thaw

>A delicate, salmon-pink light fades in around the retreating clouds evaporating them into steam

>Light fights through the trees to hit you DIRECTLY IN THE FUCKING EYES

>You’re in no hurry to make it back to Watership Down

>You even slow the rustbucket to a crawl, sidestepping the main roads in favor of a more suburban detour

>All the new homes you pass look the same to you; all of them are strung up with cheesy decorations like fake graveyards and glowing plastic jack-o-lanterns

>It’s like the residents didn’t even do any decorating themselves – the city handled it with contractors

>Even though the neighborhoods have yards any HOA would be proud of, you still fucking love Halloween

>They’ll never be able to package and sell the festive feeling

>Beyond the great weather, the festivities, the colors…

>…you’ve always carried the feeling with you – even as a little boy – that autumn is a special time

>It’s the one season of the year where the invisible barrier between the realm of spirits is at its weakest

>That barrier practically vanishes on All Hallow’s Eve, and the other side comes pouring in

>With all the lawn grass curling into dead sprouts, the leaves ripening on the branches, and the ground hardening up for the winter frost, the whole autumn season makes sense to you

>If you were a pagan European – like your ancestors – you’d see all of these signs as the machinations of a sacred process carried out millennia after millennia, one where mammals play but a small part

>With all that’s happened to you, it’s hard to believe that your ancestor’s were actually right about spirits

>You aim the rustbucket up the strip of barren road leading to the church

>Mike and Jenna chat in the back

>This is a fact that you can’t overlook, either

>Some good has come out of all this

>You have Mike back; now more than ever

>Jenna, who seems awfully protective of Mike, is on your side

>Alex has a sword, so that’s always good

>And you have…

>…Sam

>Sam is your proof of germ theory

>Not that Sam is a germ, or even dirty (though he could stand to bathe)

>He is proof that when you look at something once perceived as ‘ugly’ under microscopic detail…

>…complexity emerges

>You once saw him as a waste of a tax-funded education; a slacker with no future and no hope, riding a bullet train to nowhere

>Now you view Sam in the same way a poet sympathizes with the plight of a rare and exotic bird, trapped in small, painful cage

>You’re desperate to find the key

>Once, you thought Sam was filthy out of laziness

>Now you know that bathing was a privilege in his home

>So was hot water

>All those years ago he introduced himself to you with that selfish stutter, barely able to pronounce his own name…

>…you hated it

>Now, when Sam talks, you swear…

>…you hear birdsong

>If anything, Sam has taught you more about your own approach to life, than you’ve taught him about fealty and friendship

>More importantly, Sam taught you the difference between ‘victim’ and ‘survivor’

>The verbiage is important, you see, because Sam is a survivor

>Not a victim

>Later, all of you sit down on the caved-in hood of your car, chatting through mouthfuls of chocolate donuts, your breath dissipating into steam

>Except for Sam

>Sam, ever-cautious, holds his donut in front of his face like one holds a lizard by its tail

>He gives the pastry a cautious sniff, his pink nose twitching involuntarily as he gets a chocolate-shock to the olfactory senses

>Watching all this, Alex can’t help but laugh, sending unfinished donut shrapnel down on the pavement

>“You look like you have no idea what you’re about to eat is,” Alex laughs, taking a large, messy bite out of his own

>Sam looks at Alex, his mouth forming a soft, nervous frown

>“W-What’s it made of a-again?” He says, trying his best to look like competent, “I-It smells like a c-c-cupcake…”

>Alex spits a hail of unprocessed pastry

>“UNREAL!” Alex laughs, “You amaze me, Sam. A donut is a donut!”

“Don’t worry – it’s not that hard to amaze Alex,” you whisper to Sam, fingers threading through his scalp, massaging the muscle and tissue underneath

>You catch Mike winking at you

>Gah, to hell with him

“Just take a bite. I promise, you%apos;ll really like it,” you say, trying to sound encouraging

>You almost feel like you should be recording this moment

>You know, give Sam the home movies he never got?

>Sam hesitates in part due to your absentminded scalp massage

>You only begin to understand the connection between his nerves and his lower body, when you catch one of his legs kicking involuntarily

>Your lips curl up into a devious smirk

>Excellent

>You’ve discovered Sam’s control center — a river of nerves that stretch down from his scalp to his legs

>You double down on your efforts

>Sam’s legs kick and stretch, like he’s trying to free himself from an invisible net

>He opens his little mouth and extends a rounded edge of the donut past his long teeth

>Sam’s bite is small, cautious, nothing more than a polite nibble

>Then, all at once, his eyes bulge from his head

>His face screws up with… pain? Pleasure?

>It’s like he took a bite and it was too sweet

>Or, perhaps, his DNA is being rewritten to include donuts somewhere inside of him, at the cellular level

“Holy shit,” you gasp, watching as Sam attempts to cram the entire donut into his mouth at once

>Despite Sam’s relatively narrow jaw and girlish, thin face, he manages to hork down the entire pastry in one go

>Then the little jit has the audacity to look up at you, his cheeks bulging as he chews, eyes shimmering with grateful tears like a child in a devastated part of the world being given a piece of bread

>You think you hear him mumble, “these are really good,”

>But the donut stops most of his speech

>Or, he’s thanking you for exposing him to donuts, Dr. Bepper, and other foods you and your friends take for granted

>Damn bunny, always making your body feel like it’s floating away

>You stop scritching Sam’s scalp when the feeling becomes too dissociative

>Sam set his eyes to ‘paralyze’ this morning, goddamn

>Speaking of

>Instinct tells you not to even LOOK in Alex or Mike’s direction right now

>Yet you do so anyways, because the pain of not knowing is even worse than the gay jokes

>Alex and Mike are predictable – Alex forms a circle with his index finger and thumb, an opening which mike presses his bone-like finger through

>Of course, the two of them are in near-hysterics during the act

>However, it’s Jenna’s expression that’s more interesting to you than two idiotic teenage boys

>Jenna’s nose twitches as she scents the air once more, a final act of confirmation

>Jenna mouths, ‘how is that possible…’ as she stares in disbelief at Sam, who now mindlessly gulps down some iced coffee that Alex handed him

>Maybe giving Sam caffeine is a bad idea

>You wish you could walk in Jenna’s world for a bit – see, hear, and smell what she’s able to

>Because it looks like Sam violates all principles of the vixen’s understanding

>You snort the air

>Rich, sweet dough, chocolate, earthy coffee, and damp leaves swell in your senses

>Jenna shakes her head loose of confusing thoughts, and returns to her donut

>“Thanks for the food, Anon,” Mike says, suddenly next to you, leaning back against the hood of your car with a paper cup of coffee, “it’s been way too long since I had proper food, you know?”

>You stifle a surprised gasp

>Mike is a lot quicker now

>Also

>‘Proper food’

“I didn’t know you could still eat… ‘proper food.’ I thought you only drank blood now,” you say, eyes dropping to your bandaged wrist, “you know, if you needed some blood, I could-”

>“Pass,” he says, waving a dismissive hand at you, “I%apos;ll be fine for a little while longer. Besides, your blood probably tastes terrible.”

>Now you’re a little offended

“What? Are you saying blood tastes different from person to person? What does anthro blood taste like?”

>If the human is listening, he gives you no indication

>Mike stares into empty space, as if scanning the trees for unsanctioned movement

>“That’s another of your questions I’ll hopefully never have to answer,” he says, absently

“What do you mean?”

>Mike shoves off the hood of your car, landing weightlessly on the asphalt

>He starts walking towards the old church, turning his head to you

>“I’ve got this foolish belief that if we win on Friday, I can have my old life back.”

>He gets to the concrete steps leading up to the church doors before nausea keels him over to vomit

>But even after Jenna and Alex run over…

>…after Mike’s breakfast is splattered on the broken sidewalk…

>…he still looks at you, smiling

>“See? I got way further than last time,” he says

Oliver Hart

Author of Foxing, The 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