Is This

Is This?

The pills and vodka lie a few feet away in the grass. My life is swirling before my eyes in a Technicolor dream. I can pick out a few important moments, but mostly it’s all a blur. I reach for more vodka, only to find I don’t have enough strength left to reach the bottle. They say seventy-five percent of suicidal people, regret their attempt. I don’t. I only regret that I can’t go out faster.

" Collins, you stupid shit, wait up!" Blanche runs up to me out of breath, cheeks flushed and eyes overflowing with tears. The pierced bottle blondness of her always shocks me, no matter how many times I see her.

" What is it?" She’s actually shaking.

" Golly’s dead, Collins." Cold snaps and freezes my blood.

" What?" That can’t be my voice shacking like that.

" He killed himself. Pills and vodka, by the time his mom found him, he was gone." She collapses into my arms sobbing, I hold her up, but I don’t hold onto her. Her fists are beating into my chest now. Every word is punctuated by a sob and a punch. " All your goddamned fault! If you hadn’t been there, he would be fine and alive and alive. Oh, God."

She pulls away, clear blue eyes red with tears and anger. For a minute, I think she is going to spit on me, I think I deserve it. Then she walks away, unsteady on her legs. Abruptly, she turns again.

"Blanche?" I think, now she will tell me this was all a prank. Tell me that she was just trying to get me back. Instead, she pulls out a thin envelope.

"His last message to you. Not that you deserve it. He wrote one for me, one for his mom and one for you. The police don’t know about them." She chokes back another hiccupping sob and practically throws the envelope into my hands. " Take it. I hope every word shreds your heart apart."

With this epitaph, she’s off. No one has seen the scene, for once this does not matter. The envelope is disgustingly white, my name written in pencil is the only thing disturbing the perfect blankness. How fuckin’ perfect.

His handwriting is neater then mine. Is. Was. Fuck.

No one’s watching. I run my hands over the sharp edges, hoping to give myself a paper cut and watch the blood sully the white. It doesn’t work. I remember the first time I bled on him.

The halls were crowded. The first day back after summer vacation was always raucous. It ‘s loud, crude and fun. I’m headed to the cafeteria to met up with friends. Then, to the computer room and see about the new layout program. Senior year is going to be a blast. Something hard slams into my chest.

" Watch were you’re going!" I laughed as a kid nearly three inches shorter then me, stumbles past, regaining his balance. He’s reading a book, thick and not school related. A few others landed on the floor.

" Sorry." He mutters, picking up his bag and starting on his way again. His hair was jet black and spiked, his clothes were all black, mostly leather, except for a cotton black t-shirt. His lipstick was black.. Wait. Lipstick?

" Are you wearing makeup?" I reached for one of his books and offered it to him. He snatched it back. Bright blue eyes flashed at me.

" Does it matter?" A sharp pain floods my senses.

" Your damn book cut me." I held up the bleeding finger to him, he flinches for instant as if he expects me to hit him. When I don’t, the cold look in his eyes returns. Out of his pocket comes a band-aid.

" I hope you don’t mind that I don’t kiss it and make it better." I blink. Who the hell was this kid? He rolled his eyes, while I stared uncomprehendingly at the bandage, and unpeeled it from it’s wrapper. He pulled it tight around my finger, a drop of my blood lands darkly on his bright white skin.

" Thanks." Confusion has overtaken me and I stand unable to move. The skin he touched is on fire.

" Whatever." He walks off, leaving me there in the hall, blinking repeatedly.

" Dude, are you all right?" I wake up suddenly, class is over and people are filing out. Roger is looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. I never fall asleep in class. That’s his job.

" Yeah. I was just thinking." He gives me another look, but this time leaves me alone.

" I’ll catch you later. I’m going to work on layout." The next edition will be out soon.

The principal called me into the office after the official announcement this morning. He wants me to do a full page spread about teen suicide. A few people have all ready volunteered to write the articles. I just need a good picture of him. It’s not that I don’t have one. In all of existence, there is only one recent photo of him without makeup, wearing decent normal clothes. I keep it in my shirt pocket, near my heart, and it won’t appear in any article ever.

The halls are empty by the time I get up to walk to the computer room. My footsteps echo and I could almost believe I am alone. Hell, I am alone. It’s my own fault, there’s no one left around to blame. He saw to that.

The computer room is empty too. I lock the door and sit down at a monitor, but it remains off. From my pocket comes the picture. His smile is brilliant, one of the front teeth is slightly crooked. His hair isn’t tame, but the makeup is off at least. It makes him look strangely vulnerable, his eyes look softer and his lips paler. Frozen in time, sitting on his bed, band posters like a halo.

It’s a Polaroid, that I took when he was sick and couldn’t stop me. One of the few times I saw him divested of disguise. I liked him like this, but at the same time, couldn’t relate it to my part of him. The frightening face that I knew. The one that enticed me to follow.

The door makes me nervous. The doorbell stares at me and the unvarnished wood, reminds me that I’m in the wrong part of town. The house is better kept up then others. The porch is sound and the light blue paint isn’t peeling. In this place, that practically makes it a five star hotel. After a few seconds, I ring the bell. Footsteps echo out to me and a distant: "I’ll get it." Then the door is swinging open and..

" Hi." I say in a small voice. He stands there, staring at me in surprise.

" What are you doing here?" The cold, wild eyes glance over me. I’m wearing jeans and blue sweater, but the way he’s looking at me, I might have been wearing a suit made entirely of fish.

" Looking for you. Heard that Leah dumped you, thought you might want some company." It sounded lame, even to me. He leaned against the doorway, staring at me in disbelief.

" Is this some ploy? Am I missing a joke? Just leave me the hell alone." he reached for the door, but I stood in the way. I held out a book.

" From when you bumped into me a few weeks ago. The one I got cut on. You dropped it again. Your address is inside." He stared at the book, effectively trapped. From the back of the house, a woman’s voice cried out.

"Who’s at the door, sweetheart?" He glanced into the backroom and then at me.

" Just a friend, mom." He stared at me, his eyes shooting daggers.

" Well, don’t let him stand out there. It’s getting cold out. Let him in." I smirked at him. He growled slightly, but opened the door and let me pass.

" Thanks." I wandered into the living room. The furniture was faded, but tasteful. Bookcases lined the walls, filled to groaning with books. I felt suddenly ignorant.

" My mom and I are big readers." he muttered from behind me. " Why are you here? "

"Like I said, someone told me that that weird guy, Galahad, got dumped by the biggest slut in Bayside. Figured you might want some company. And I had the book." I turned. " Everyone needs friends."

" I don’t." He gestured at the bookcases. " I have enough company."

" Galahad, why don’t you offer that nice boy some hot chocolate." The voice called again.

" He doesn’t want any, mom." He called back.

" Actually, I think I would like some."

The room was silent for a minute and I could hear him breathing.

" This way." He said through gritted teeth.

The kitchen was the same as the living room, clean, but old. The table and chairs had seen better days. The mugs were mismatched. Mine said Colorado, in red bold letters. His had picture of Garfield. It was rather like the twilight zone, watching this gothic figure drink from a cartoon character cup.

We talked eventually. Slowly, he warmed up a bit. I told him to call me Collins. He told me I could call him whatever the hell I wanted to as long as it wasn’t Galahad.

" How about Gal?" I asked, testing the waters. His eyes flashed.

" Don’t." Ohh, if looks could kill.

" Had?" silence. " What did Leah call you?"

" Most of the time, hey you." Beat.

" Oh. What about that girl you hang out with... the one with the bleached blonde hair and all the metal in her ears."

" Blanche. She calls me Golly." I blinked, he sounded almost affectionate.

" Golly? Shouldn't it be Gally?" He stared at me." All right, Golly it is then. So Golly, do you have a room or a coffin?"

It turned out to be a room and a fairly ordinary one at that. Bed with a blue comforter, blue carpet and white walls, plastered in posters and pictures. Every corner was jammed with his life. A desk covered in paper, what looked like poems scribbled on the sheets. There is a computer, but it doesn’t look like it’s good for much, but typing.

" No coffin. One more rumor disbanded." He is trying to joke, but I can see that he is uncomfortable with me being here. This is his inner sanctum and it is embarrassingly innocent to him. No coffin, no bleeding crosses, no porn, no drugs and no black. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his shelf of makeup.

"You can sit in the chair." He is saying. I turn. He’s sitting on his bed, looking absurdly out of place. I sit down heavily and the bridge chair creaks ominously.

" You like them?" I asked, indicating a poster for Fall from Glory.

" I’ve been to a few of their concerts. I know the drummer." he must have seen my eyes widen. " We met a long time ago. "

" You know the drummer from the most bitchen’ band since the Beatles?" I gazed at him with new respect. He shrugged.

" He’s a bastard. Treats people like shit. " There’s real venom in his voice this time.

" Oh." We sit in the quiet for a while. Finally, I ask, " Are you upset about her?"

" About who?"

" Leah." He shakes his head, his hair is so stiff with gel, it doesn’t move a millimeter.

" Not really. She didn’t care about me. Just wanted into my pants."

" You sound like a girl, Golly." it trips out before I can say anything. He flinches as if injured. "Sorry."

" You’re not the first to say it." He stares out his window at the crumbling house next store. " When I was little, this was a better neighborhood. Every year, my life gets crappier and so does the neighborhood. It hasn’t gotten to this house yet, but it will."

" You’re a real upper to be around, did you know that?"

" Yeah. Guess you could just call me Mr. Fun."

" Better then Golly."

We share a smile, our first and then we talk more about music. It gets easier to talk and eventually, I’m surprised by the time. It’s early evening and I have to go.

" I have to run." I get up, he doesn’t. He’s leaning against his head board now, legs stretched out in front of him, encased in black leather. "I’ll see you around."

" I guess." His eyes are at the window again. I’m halfway to the door, when he says something that I almost don’t catch. " Thanks, Collins." I smile and know that I’ll be coming back here.

How many times had he thanked me while I stabbed him the heart? Easy now to put the blame on myself. Blanche made it abundantly clear that she agreed.

The bell rings again. I don’t get up. The teachers will allow me to miss, just this once. After all, my friend just offed himself. I better be back tomorrow though. I laugh bitterly, Golly would love it. His life was worth only one day off from school. It fit his world view to a t.

I opted to stay in the computer room. It would be empty for another two periods. I played around with the layout for a while, trying to think of other things. Eventually, I jumped on the net. There were thousands of sites for Fall from Glory. I found the Official Site for the drummer, Joey, hacked into it, drew moustaches on all the pictures and changed all the words to bastard. It made me feel slightly better, this petty revenge.

Any one who could hurt Golly should be punished, but I had hurt him the worst. There was nothing I could do to change that and I didn’t know how to punish myself. Though I think Blanche could probably make a few good suggestions.

I pulled the letter from my pocket. I was afraid to open it. I turned it around to find a lipstick kiss on the back. Black of course, he used to tease me all the time with it, leave black, incriminating marks all over my stuff. I traced over the dried makeup with my thumb, trying to conjure those lips back to life.

" I can’t believe this. You’re so white bread, it’s disgusting." We were in my old tree house, in the middle of forest surrounding my neighborhood. Golly hadn’t seen my house and didn’t seem to want to, but he was intrigued by the notion of a tree house.

" My dad built it for me!"

" That’s what I mean. Everything with you is right out of some fifties sitcom." I kicked him idly, but not very hard. He was too fragile to really wrestle with, like I did with some of my friends.

" I’m not the one called Golly."

" Eat me." He said distractedly.

"Not even if I was starving."

" I’ll have you know I taste damn good." His words were half hearted, but he stared at me, intense. I licked my lips, self-consciously. We had been hanging out for a few weeks outside of school, studiously pretending we did not know each other in school. It worked out well enough, but it added a level of secrecy to our friendship as if it was something to hide. The charge in the air was always there, but it seemed to intensify in that moment. A heavy musk filled the autumn air, I watched him chew on his bottom lip. A thousand confusing tumbling thoughts spilled through me.

"Prove it." I challenged.

" Prove what?" His eyes pinned me and knocked away my breath.

" Prove that you taste good."

He thought for a minute, then climbed over to me and turned my face to his. The eye contact was searing, my entire body focused on his fingers on my face.

" If we do this, everything changes." He worried at his lip." Trust me, I know."

" You’ve done this before? You’re gay?" I stumbled. He nodded, slightly. " No wonder Leah dumped you."

"Collins.." He drew his hand away, but I reached out and held fast.

"You’ll have to show me how.. I’ve never done it before with a guy."

He smiled a little, leaned in and just touched his lips to mine. It felt weird, good weird. I parted my lips and his tongue snaked out and traced my lips before exploring my mouth. It was intense, beautiful and incredibly scary.

" I can’t do that again." Was all I could say.

" Yeah." He smiled, his small sad smile. " I’m going to go, now. You need time to think. I’ll understand if you never want to see me again."

He was gone before I could protest. I sat up in the tree house for a long time. Cold finally drove me home, but I couldn’t stop thinking. I called him later.

" Wanna hang out tomorrow?"

"Sure." His voice is wary and I can picture him in my head, eyeing me suspiciously.

" I like you, Golly. I like you a lot, but I can’t be that for yo." There’s a short silence before he heaves a sigh.

" I figured. Pick me up at ten." Before I can answer that, he’s hung up.

What makes one person gay and another straight? It’s a question that has plagued me for a long time and is one I can’t really answer. Golly once told me that he knew since he was ten. He had been reading some fantasy novel about a hero and a heroine, only in the end the hero leaves the heroine for another hero. To quote him, " It was the first book that seemed to end right for me. Everything just clicked together."

I, on the other hand, still have no clue what I am. I’ve dated girls and enjoyed it, but I also really liked Golly. There was something very female about him, the makeup and his fragileness. I’d like to say that now that he’s gone, I know for sure one way or the other, but I don’t. It’s worse now, because I have no one to talk to.

Golly was patient with me. God only knows why. Talked to me for endless hours about whatever I needed to say. He could listen forever sometimes. When he was feeling poetic, he would claim he liked my voice. I don’t know about that, but I think he liked hearing about my problems. He was a person who lived very much in another world, but longed for a life in mine.

We never talked about what happened in the tree house, even though it repeated in our friendship. I could tell by the look in his eyes that I was killing him with the constant rejection and acceptance, but he never said a thing. I was too afraid to ever get beyond the first word of any sentence on the topic.

Maybe if I had said something he’d still be alive. I don’t know. There were so many things. Confessions were constant from Golly, they flowed like a river. Things done by him and to him. The former mostly mild, the latter sometimes horrific.

The door is opened by an elderly women. Her hair is in a graying bun, crow’s feet spanning out from her eyes, dressed in a flowing skirt and a knit sweater. Ten silver bracelets grace both her wrists, rings sparkle for all ten fingers and a long ropey silver chain is twined twice around her neck.

" Hello, you must be Collins." Her voice is low and sulky. She has an accent I can’t quite place. "It’s nice to meet you.

" You must be.." It occurs to me all of sudden that I don’t know Golly’s last name. " Golly’s Mom."

" Mrs. Lucille Ospry. Call me Lucy. He’s upstairs." She smiled and I could see her teeth were straight and white. I smiled back and we stood for a minute beaming at each other. I knew I would like her from there on in. She turned and called out." Galahad! Collins’s here!"

" Thank you, Lucy." She smiled at me again, then glided off to the kitchen. I heard muffled groans from upstairs, then footsteps. Under my watchful eye, he appeared on the top step as if conjured. He’s dressed down today, black jeans and thick black sweater. The paint on his nails is chipping and the black outline around his eyes is thick and shiny. The breath is knocked out of me, in longing. I want to lick off all the horrid lipstick, kiss him breathless.. Then... Then what? I don’t know. I don’t want to feel any of this. I repress it, automatically.

" Hey." His voice is light.

" Hey." We stare for a moment, caught.

" Do you have your car?" He asks slowly.

" Yeah, any where in particular you wanna go?" A head shake, he starts to descend the stairs, then he’s right here. Nearly on top of me.

" Out. As far out as possible. " There is a manic gleam in his eyes. " I need to get out."

" Your wish is my command." It was supposed to be sarcastic, but it came out teasingly and hung between us.

" Let’s go." He grabbed his coat (black leather) off it’s hook and headed outside. I followed behind him.

" Aren’t you going to tell your mom?" I said slightly bemused as he launched himself into my beat up red Honda Civic.

" She knows I’m going." From his pocket, he pulls a cigarette and a lighter.

" I didn’t know you smoked." I’d seen Blanche take a few puffs, I never thought he would.

" Only when I’m nervous." He muttered, lighting it while it hung from his lips and took a drag. He opened a window wide enough to flick the ash out. Every action screamed he knew exactly what he was doing.

" You’re nervous? About what?" I wish I could get a better look at him, but I have to concentrate on the road.

" I don’t know. You’re the one who’s hands are shaking." Are they? I look a the steering wheel and see that yes, they are.

"Yeah, well. It’s weird, ya know?" Out of the coroner of my eye, he nods.

" Tell me about it. Weird is my life." He flicked more ash out the window, watching it fly behind the car.

" How’d you meet that Joey drummer guy?" I ask casually, itching with curiosity.

" Is this story time?"

" Yeah, I guess it is." I risk glancing over at him, he’s staring at his hands and taking a long drag on his cancer stick.

" I’ll tell you, if you promise to tell me one when I’m done." He says finally.

" Sounds like a good deal to me." We’re out of his neighborhood, now headed out of our town, Bayside and towards the Hallville mall.

"It was three years ago. I was fifteen and it was a year before Bayside High closed and merged with JFK. I had a big group at Bayside, but most of them moved away before the school district went to hell. One guy, Jason, had a huge van that his parents let him drive on Saturday nights. We would all pile in and head for clubs. Faked ids were enough to get us by if we didn’t try to drink.

"There were a lot of different places, mostly Goth clubs. The Living End, was our favorite, but it was hard to get into most of the time. It’s the only decent hang out for miles for teens. "

" Isn’t the Living End that place on the interstate that burned down last year?" The name tugs something lose from my brain. The whole story comes back to me. It was a colossal fire and several died. The blame fell on a cigarette casually thrown in a bathroom garbage.

" Yeah, but I stopped going there long before that." The cancer stick is down to a stub, he flicks the butt out the window before pulling out a stick of gum. " That night, the joint was on crazy. Everyone was sweating, it was the middle of August. They had some new band on stage none of us had ever heard of before. We danced for hours, by midnight, I was drenched with sweat. We all had to be home by one, I went over to the bar to get soda before going. While I sat on the bar stool, someone tapped me on the shoulder. The drummer from the band stood before me. Tall, beautiful and laughing, he asked me to dance. I didn’t even think twice about it."

" How’d he know that.."

" I was gay?" I nod, hoping he’d catch it. My voice seemed stuck.

"He said it was the way I was holding my drink."

" Oh." I risked another side glance, now he was laying back in the seat, his eyes closed as if a asleep, I was startled when he began to speak again.

" We danced and it was the first time that it felt right. It felt good to be gay, instead of awkward. He offered to drive me home, my friends didn’t want to let me go, but I insisted. On the way back we stopped on the side of the road." His voice got soft, almost inaudible.

" Golly? Are you okay?" There wasn’t a place to pull over and a sense of foreboding overtook me.

" It isn’t rape when you say yes, Collins." Golly straitened up, opened his eyes and I could see the tears pooling there. " That’s what he taught me. For the two weeks the band was in town, I was with him. I barely slept or ate. Lived backstage with the rest of the band. In the end, I looked like someone had sucked the life out of me and it wasn’t far from the truth. When it was over, I looked up and everyone was gone. Had to hitchhike back home. My Mom was away on business and I told her that the phone company had stopped service for a late bill. It’s happened before. No one else to ask questions. I cleaned myself up, got myself tested and slept for a long time.

" I went back the next time Fall from Glory played at the Living End. I was in the middle of slashing his tires when Lance, the lead singer, came out. When he asked what what I was doing and why, I just told him flat out.... He gave me his knife, said it was sharper. I still have it."

" Jesus fucking Christ. " I concentrated hard, trying to find an exit, finally I settled for a Sunoco station, parking far away from other cars. Trying to be careful. I turned to him and he stared at me.

" Now you know." he turned to look out the window.

Impulsively, I reach across to him and pull him into a hug. At first he stiffens, but then is pliable in my arms. He turns to face me, and I wipe away his tears with my hand.

" You have to tell me a story now." He said, his voice back to full power.

" What do you want to know?"

" Tell me your life. "

"What?"

" I want to know everything about you."

" It’s pretty boring." I pull back from him, but he smiles understanding that it’s not a rejection.

" After everything that’s happened to me, I think boring might be a nice change of pace."

He held me to my word too, unraveling every secret I possessed. Being raised mostly by my dad because my mom was a workaholic, eating dinner over the sink and my older brother teaching me to swim by throwing me into the lake.

It was a long day and by the time we drove back home, the moon was above head. I’ve lost the memory that tells me what I was thinking while I drove back. Perhaps, that’s for the best.

The envelope is covered in fingerprints. I desperately want to open it, but not here. Before I can think about this to hard, I better just do it. No one will mind if I go home a little early. My trusty Honda waits in the parking lot. A notebook in the backseat that isn’t mine gives me some pause. But I look again and it’s Greg’s, not Golly’s. Before long I’m cruising home, passing through placid suburbia. Pulling in, I can see two other cars. Shit.

They’re waiting in the kitchen, making concerned eyes at each other over coffee.

" Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad." I shuffle over to the refrigerator and pulled out a box I’d been saving.

" Honey, we got a call from one of your teachers. They said that a friend of yours.... Gavin? Killed himself and that you’d be home early. Are you all right?"

" Yeah, mom. I’m fine. I just need to do some thinking. " I walked out again, this time upstairs to my room. I could hear them talking about me, but it isn’t worth eavesdropping.

In the end, I wind up on my bed eating raspberries, we’d found a few days ago. I used to hate the sour little bastards until Golly told me to eat them one by one. They’re like people, he’d said, a lot of them together are sour and rough, but one at a time and they’re sweet. It occurred to me all of a sudden that he had more faith in individuals then I did. Despite all his hatred of humanity, he liked people.

I finally get up the guts to peel open the envelope. The letter is only a page long, black ink on white paper. The handwriting is neat and block like print.

Collins,

If you get this then I finally did it. Offed myself and gotten it all out of the way. Just so you know, this wasn’t about you. Blanche will think so and maybe even my Mom because she thinks she knows everything, but in the end it has nothing to do with you at all.

I wanted you to be enough to keep me going, but that isn’t going to happen. There’s too much blackness in me now and you don’t have it in you to cure my aches. I listened to you because then I wouldn’t have to talk. Didn’t have to tell you my stories. Didn’t want to make you as dirty as me. You live a clean life. It may seem boring to you now, but in the end you’re better off.

Blanche told me, that you were horrible because you led me on. I think it was wonderful. It kept me going for a while. It was fun, but the funs over now. The final push had nothing to do with you.

I wish I had some stellar bit of wisdom to leave you with, but all I can come up with is: Don’t make too many decisions yet, they hem you in and define what doesn’t need defining.

Eternally yours,

Golly

I didn’t know what to make of the letter. It was a whole side of Golly I had never really heard before. Had I really known him at all? Even in death he didn’t speak much. So many things about him I didn’t know. Like who his father was and what he wanted to be when he grew up. Now, he would never grow up and the point is moot.

I looked towards the bay window on the other side of my room. Golly is sitting there, the late afternoon sun streaming through him. He’s in full makeup, so he doesn’t look more or less dead then usual.

"What are you doing here?"

There’s a quirk on his lips that could almost be a smile.

"Goodbye then."

I blink a few times and he’s gone. I don’t know if I imagined that or not, but I don’t really care. It would be like Golly to make a dramatic exit. He liked drama.

The funeral is nice. Golly would have liked it. Lots of black and somber music. The casket was open at the wake and he looked so oddly normal without his makeup. They put him a suit which added more strangeness. It was easy to look at the body. This wasn’t Golly, it was the other boy, Galahad, who I had never really met. The one in the photo, who smiles. The one who wrote me a last letter so I wouldn’t feel guilty.

The school consoler told me I could come talk to her whenever I wanted, but I politely declined. I have better things to do then talk to her, another failed savior of Golly’s. Instead, I go to his house one afternoon and ask Lucy, if I can have something of his to remember him by. She’s so broken up that she can barely answer. None of Golly’s old friends had come to the wake or the funeral. It had only been me and Blanche, who had cried loudly and mostly on me for some reason.

Finally, I escaped back to his bedroom. The place that was both Golly and Galahad. For a while I just sat on the bridge chair, trying not to disturb anything. Sitting on the little dresser was a knife. I wondered if he had contemplated using it that night. Hefted it in his hand and pictured the razor gliding up the vein.

The idea is so strongly attractive to me, that I pick up the thing and weigh it in my own hand. The handle is black, but someone had paid extra to engrave their name on it. L.M. Allen.

It was the infamous knife. I tucked it into the plastic cover and under my shirt. A black lipstick and a ripped up black t-shirt with the words "I came to the race, but I left my rat at home." printed in white across the chest are the only other items I remove.

I give the room one last glance when I leave and again, I see that ghost of him. This time he’s lying in his bed staring up at the ceiling, hands settled clasped on his stomach. I stare my full, then leave turning the lights off as I go.