“Yeah, you fucked up,” Kyle, his foreman, said as water squirted out of the copper pipe. “You’re practically forty and you can’t solder a joint?” “I’m thirty-five.” That’s not much better.”
How is it twenty years since… all that? Twenty years since we buried you. Twenty years since I’d seen him, or even heard of him. Not that he doesn’t cross my mind often; he’s always hanging out there in the back of it somewhere. Cat, I says – I use Cat these days instead of Kitty. Sorry. He doesn’t recognise me, of course, with my blonde bob. Never grew it long again. And he’s gone from wavy blond to wispy bald. Some nice sense of karma in there, I thinks. Looks like he’s put on all the weight I lost. Jeans too small. Flab kamikazeing over the edges. He’s all blotchy round the nose and cheeks. Piggy little holes for eyes. Blue. Never forget those eyes.
Photo by Valerio Emiliani on Unsplash The water beckons; I launch my body into waves. Below my feet, sharp rocks and sea urchins, in every nook, glow purple. Salt coats my arms. I slice through the ocean's realm. Rainbow fish gleam, caught in a puddle of spilling sun rays. My breath squeezes in, out. Water [...]
Photo by Michael Parulava on Unsplash This piece was previously published in Daruma. recipe for eternal suppressionof free speech (9.2 million ratings)1 by joseph stalin, 1929 ingredients ½ cup of journalists 2 cups of censorship (disguise as cleansing of the media)high gini coefficient (works best with >0.5)a pinch of elites and a generous amount of peasants (1 [...]