He found the strength to become a handful of powder
He threw a handful of powder into the lake.
Cops?
He looked over his shoulder at her, he was crying.
Oh shit, I thought you were dumping drugs.
Sad frog face.
Damn man, I'm sorry.
He turned to face her, a small gray stone container in one hand, its cap in the other, clenched in fists.
Hey bro don't look at me like that, are you even allowed
He put both arms over the fence and pulled himself over one leg at a time. Before his second foot hit the ground she was running up the hill, help
He moved fast but she was an elliptical girl.
A man seated in his car on his telephone, she pounded the glass, help me.
He looked up just in time to see her head pulled back by the hair and then slammed into the window, blood spreading out from her nose and mouth, a tooth poking through the lip.
He started the car and backed out, swung sideways and the other man dragged her out of the way. The car peeled off kicking dust into the air.
He pulled her behind the wide dry tree trunk and out of sight.
She woke up in a structure, concrete floor, misshapen walls made of stone and old concrete. The smell of pee in the air. She felt warm like maybe blood. She looked at herself and her eyes were still clouded from her broken nose, she put her hand to it and it stung, then the wetness hit her again and she looked up and saw him pissing on her.
She pushed herself away from him and he took wide steps to keep up with her, the stream in her hair and running down her side. She pushed herself to her feet at the edge of the wall.
Please
He tried to laugh but his face was all rage.
Why
Because it is the end of the world, his voice picked up as he spoke, building into a shrill scream
She shrieked joining him as he put his hands on her face and smashed her head into the wall until she was unconscious again.
She asked for a photo and he sent it and asked if she was going to send one.
She wrote, sure. You look adorable. Accept my request. So I can be able to send you pictures.
Accept what request? And thank you.
That me. She shared a photo and asked, can I know more about you?
Sure, what would you like to know? You look adorable too.
He performed a reverse image search and found an amateur porn model.
Thank you. Anything you feel like sharing with me.
How long have you been doing amateur porn, [name of model whose photo she sent me]?
She unfollowed and then deleted the account.
He carried a box of stuffed toys and plastic to his car and put it in the back with the rest of the things he no longer recognized. Drove them to a donation site behind a thrift store where two men unloaded them and tapped his trunk, good to go.
When he returned he put in the compact disc and a song began playing. It was a bit robotic, a snare drum tapping away like a metronome, organ producing long notes, a woman singing in a sultry semi whisper, a slide guitar replying to the bass guitar notes.
He was almost finished with the three remaining boxes in the corner. He built a new one and wrote on the front, donate. Put it next to the one marked keep, it only had a couple items in it. Utility, tools and a belt, a pair of socks.
He pried open the box and there were papers stacked on old binders. He paged through them, school work in handwriting he didn't recognize, couldn't read the cursive. He tossed them in the box marked trash.
He opened a shoe box and there was a watch and a belt, a small container of cologne, and a box with a silver ring with a pink stone. He put them in the donate box.
The next box was square, very old and flimsy, it had a drawing of a hat on it. When he opened it the smell of pipe smoke hit him and he recognized the pipe carousel.
Grandpa, he said.
He pinched his ear and put pressure on his neck remembering the old man collapsed in a massive brown leather recliner, the feet up and back tilted next to a window, white gauze curtain, a table with a smoking pipe perched in a holder next to an ash tray and a small pocket knife. A tumbler with ice and scotch in his hand, listening to the radio or the conversation in the kitchen.
The woman speaking in the kitchen handing him objects taking shape, the squirt gun in the box he dropped off that morning. An action figure he put in the trash box because it had been chewed by a dog. The coffee mug on the table next to her that his father handed him when he returned from the trip for the funeral.
He looked around the room frantically, looked at the clock and it was late at night, he looked at his phone and the thrift store was closed. He paced and walked from the box with the pipes to the box marked trash, rubbing the back of his ear, gripping the chewed action figure. He looked in the closet and pulled the plastic gun case down from the top shelf, opened it and put the Remember invitation to the side, put the barrel in his mouth and finally found the strength.
The block button. Disconnecting the phone, it's off the hook. Sending it to voicemail. Restricted so the conversation doesn't even load, it's somewhere else, you have to search for the person and wait for it to reappear.
Maybe the light will be left on, the door unlocked, I can walk into a warm welcome.