fiction – CASSE-COUILLES

THE LATE

My hands were stained gray. I clapped them together, brushing him from me.

We will all join into the stew of life.

un truc plus dans mon sac en papier.

She was always underwhelmed by me.

I grab my own wrist reflexively. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m stupid, but fine. Everything will be okay.

This is the passing of time. Not in seconds but between extremes.

I have been the sum of joy.

Phil asks me if I like fish. I say yes. Why would I have ordered it if I did not like it.

And then—like they always do, when they realize you’re onto them—they start disappearing.