Airport lockers. We rent them the way people once rented apartments before ubiquitous heli-travel. They represent our public space. Somewhere to store, fill, or hide. The contents tell tales, but mine has been silent. It has always been empty.
Someday, when she realizes this locker has been abandoned she’ll open it. I can almost see the look on her face as it spills onto the floor at her feet. I’ll be gone, but the questions will remain. Why? How? And honestly, I couldn’t say.
Maybe it was something she said.
He had always been beautiful. But there was also something about that beauty that made him, well, other.
For the entirety of their relationship there had been a strange aesthetic distance between them, as if his very appearance was a boundary that kept her at arms length.
He stared up at her through bloodshot eyes, wet hair hanging across his brow, and dropped to the ground.
“Please, you don’t have to.”
Her own tear streaked eyes gazed down at him as she aimed the gun.
“I wish that were true.”
Talk less, smile some more
Don’t let on what you’re against
Or what you are for
The moon hung low in the sky and the house was quiet as he washed the dishes she had left. She was always leaving him little jobs to do, mother.
The house’s silence seemed to amplify the noises outside the window which was open due to the unseasonably warm streak. He could hear the wind scuttling the leaves along the walk, and the neighbor’s dog harassing a skunk again.
He turned up the water until it began to scald.
But the knife lay across the table like a constant reminder.