text: \*\*\*A work in progress that I created and wanted to push out. &#x200B; Jack is dying. The sun burns a hole through our invisible, velvet sheath- creeping so hauntingly from a million miles away. Our eyes pierce the fog that shrouds our claims of forever. We were happy once, sitting beneath the trees, the faint touch of autumn leaves dancing upon our skin. Jack is dying. Autumn leaves, in all their beauty, now turn black and just like these heart-shaped glasses, begin to dissolve and wither between the image of what is real and what is a mere memory. Green to yellow, yellow to red. The shifting colors of every sensible traffic light. We race toward the shifting colors- Jack raises his voice and looks away from the illuminating spots upon the encroaching horizon. He explains his desires and the meaning of music to his tear-stained wife. She cries louder now, screaming at Jack as he races through the night and into the clutches of the reaper's intersection that blindly approached them. She says something about leaving as headlights scream through her window. *When the rain came our heartless barricades were not enough to stop the deluge. If we can talk about those times, maybe we both can live in a happily ever after. I just wanted to dance with you, beneath the autumn leaves, because Jack needed a breath- I needed a spark.* A sandy blonde-haired man stood in the middle of the wreckage, shards of glass burying into the soles of his naked feet. It had begun to rain as Jack's eyes peeled open. An unfamiliar dampness scratched at his eyes. The images were blurry, but the blonde-haired man stood silhouetted in the street- flashing lights dancing behind and all around- Jack could make out the movements of the man's lips, but his words could not breach the rain. Noises, so loud- so distracting like a siren in the distance- it all came screaming through and he tried to move, but his body was too heavy. He remembered arguing, then the sound of screeching brakes and now the man- so familiar yet still so blurry. His face still hidden in the blackness of the night. Jack tried reaching out into the night toward the man and then he saw it- bloody hands covered in glass. Sickness came to him and his panic, he saw the sandy blonde-haired man disappear into the raid and Jack's eyes closed, escaping, for a brief moment- the fate that would cripple his life and destroy him. *Majestically fucked up. Music could bring us back home. I thought I had it figured out, but I was young and dumb. The parallel lines of our life and what we imagine ran endlessly into that unknown place. I thought it was simple. We could look at the other line, but we could never know it- I wish we figured it out sooner.* An empty room, save one soul and a half dozen chairs. The taste of tobacco lingers still, flaunting sway over his deserted body. He had grown accustomed to the task; to the longing. He felt cold and barren within the confines of the room, walls that smothered and pressured. Most rooms felt the same since the accident. Probably why he was here, waiting for some fucked up doctor and his pseudo-science. A screeching monotone pierces the small bedroom. The phone's voice scratches at the ears of the couple laying a few feet away. From beneath the warmth and comfort of a quilt, a man's arm raises up, searching the darkness for the source of such distraction. He pulls himself up and out of his dream, pushing a button and forcing the phone beside his ear. "' ‘ello?", Groggy and still half asleep he answers, already sure of who it is at such a late hour. The day's date made this phone call inevitable- it was just a matter of when. "It's me...", his voice trailed on and stuttered, his breathing slightly elevated and his words coated a hint of sadness. "Jack..." , a tired, female voice broke the momentary silence from beneath the covers. She rustled the quilt from her face and peered up, sleepy-eyed and half asleep, to her husband, Jack Monroe. Jack takes a moment to sift his fingers through her hair before answering. Her eyes, the darkest auburn, barely visible with the weight of exhaustion. "It's Marcus, Anna- I'll come back to sleep soon, try to rest" He takes his gaze off Anna and returns to his phone conversation. " Hey man, you doing all right?", worrying wasn't his nature but Marcus sounded more drunk than usual. Even after a year, Sara's death wouldn't be just a memory for him. Each moment seemed to poison him, even more than the liquor. "Yeah, you know...trying. I just wanted to hear your voice- see how you were doing." The sadness was still there behind his tone, but the slurring seemed to stop when he focused on talking. He continues to speak in a sort-of rambling way," I just wanted to tell you that I love you and Anna both. I'm sorry I could not be stronger." He trailed off murmuring to himself incoherently. There was something different, Jack thought, in Marcus's tone and in the words he spoke. Never did he seem so serious and sad at the same time. Maybe Marcus was off his medication- if so he probably isn't thinking clearly. "We love you too, man. You know that. You sure everything is okay? I can com-" Marcus knew where this was going and interrupted him, steady but starting to slur his words. "No, no. Everything is as it is supposed to be. I'm going to sleep, I'll see you tomorrow." Just as abruptly as the phone call itself, the other line disconnected, and left Jack puzzled and unsettled. "That was a little different", he speaks to himself and tries to dismiss the ominous cloud. He places the phone back in its cradle and wrestles with the quilt, trying to get comfortable. Anna shuffles back awake and inches closer to Jack, reaching her small arm across his chest. She's more awake now but still very out of it. She had overheard portions of the conversation and asked Jack about it. "Is he all right?" "For the most part, yeah, I think. Sara just won't let him go." " I don't blame him, at least tomorrow we'll see him and cheer him up." Her head tilts on his chest and kisses his right breast. It was always so comfortable for her to lay on him- she loved him and couldn't imagine a world that was without him. He nods silently at her comment and brings her closer, hugging her tightly- thankful to the gods that she exists and exists with him. He begins searching the darkness of the room, waiting and thinking. After the phone call, visions of where he was started filtering through and now he had the chance to focus. "Oh yeah, I had the strangest dream right before he called" She peers up, catching his gaze, "Oh yeah?"- It wasn't odd for Jack to dream- some of them even end up being in his novels. "That's good, right?" She asks, already knowing the answer but curious all the same. "Everything was just so different. And it seems odd now, but everything seemed in place and right. But, I have a new novel- an idea that may bring Marcus back to us." Jack smiles and leans back, drifting off back into the world that seemed so perfect. Annabel rests peacefully, already wisped away by some warm, salty breeze that pursued her from a distant ocean in her dreams. I remember screaming out your name. A tight fitting ball of rage seething in the bowels behind my eyes. In a dream I stood on a cliff, a vexing deluge pouring around my tears- a torment of dismay violently crashing against rock and bone. I cannot be this lonely- this angry- this hopeless without you. It would never be just you and me- a movie of our lives plays across the angry sky- the ocean horizon begging at our feet. I have grown old now with a numbing secret- you do not exist- you never have. All your voices can never let me go and this hate for you swells and grows harder as time passes- you laugh in my visions and hand me another glass- a pill soaking at the bottom. As you scream into these filthy ears of mine, I will not cry for you and tears will not fall at the thought of you. Maybe if I was blind I could see you, if I had no fingers maybe I could feel you and if I had no tongue, I could say all the pretty words you need to hear.