just another writer with too many cats
email: [email protected]
It all started with an email chain. Fred Schubert was just taking his first sip of lukewarm coffee from the office kitchenette when he saw the email pop up in his work inbox. The forwarded message was from Jim, an old coworker, whom he hadn't heard from in a good few months. Frowning, Fred clicked on the greeting which read, "Welcome the year 2000 in with a bang!"
Each morning when I left for my day shift at the drug store, a white cat waited outside the apartment complex. I lived in a suburb with clusters of buildings, so I didn’t pay the cat much attention early on: its fur wasn’t dirty or matted, it didn’t meow to try and get my attention, and it looked fairly well-fed if its puff of a belly was any indication. The only thing that made me note it from the other strays I had seen was that it sat in one place and stared long after I had passed with my bike. Sometimes its eyes even shifted from yellow to silver when I looked back.
the sky keeps secrets for another day, and I keep finding ways to miss you when you might be staring down like an overseer, a god, an alien
this stray dandelion seed floats away, dust on the wind and there is no weight that lifts from my chest with that one grain
Even the things that went bump in the night needed to have a break once in a while. Edgar, for one, had been a bogeyman for three decades—ever since he had died from a mortal existence he could not remember living—and scaring children got old after a while. And between the hours of 3 AM and 6 AM, all the people he could frighten had fallen back into predawn sleep. (Insomniacs were not the best company. They were often bingeing the latest thing on Netflix.)
constellations linger softly in the trap of her eyes, and you are the prisoner, your heart locked in a cage thump, thump, thump
With Love Always
Alyssa, When we first met, I didn’t realize you would become my best friend and confidante. You were standing there outside the dorms, handing out flyers for Lucy Gray’s candle light vigil, and the way you talked to each and every person made me think, “Wow, I wish I were that friendly.” At first it was a passing thought, some stray thought that I didn’t think would come back to be relevant to me later. When you got to me, I just grabbed hold of one of the yellow papers, expecting to crumple it and throw it away when I got up to my room. But something in your eyes made me pause. Your dark eyes accused me, as if you could unravel every single thought I was thinking.
The White Room
For the first time in her life, Mac was going to the White Room—otherwise known as the Hall of Illusion, as her classmates liked to call it. The space was really just a room outfitted with simulation technology. She wasn’t sure exactly how it worked—not that her technician dad had ever failed in trying to get her to understand the inner workings of the design he had a hand in creating—but she knew its purpose: the white room existed to show you the future. Your future. Or, rather, the variations of it.