Author S. K. Nicholas

My mother was telling me about some kids she went to school with back in the seventies. One died in a fire while working in a hat factory. The other succumbed to a brain tumor, the third, a motorcycle crash. All that potential snuffed out before they even had a chance. Now they’re just shadows; it’s a fate that awaits us all. Tales to be told to whoever will listen. Some to leave an impression, others, forgotten. All my memories- I need to get them down on paper before I forget. Those moments of secret love: those seconds of sincerity soon to be crushed beneath the weight of half the world. Those around me don’t concern themselves with such things. History to them is weakness; they just move on as if nothing ever happened. Reflection only interests them if it involves money or lands them a better job. Yet here I am, picking away day after day so that these wounds will never heal. Let me feel everything twice; let me be real in a time when honesty is a commodity. There are so many secrets I’ll never find, and it taints all that I do. Good. Bad. Boring. Vulgar. These days should be shameful, not wasteful. No one will remember your conformity when you’re gone. The more you fit in means the more you won’t be missed. Just another cog. Just another brick. Peaceful eyes watching mine as I sleep. A body to serenade and destroy in the same breath. Watch me do what I want; half for you and half for me. Shake your head as I celebrate the glory of our merging by getting drunk on wine and beer. The room spins and no matter how hard I try you refuse to sing me to sleep. Instead, you shake your head and go into the next room. I call you a whore and declare my love for the stars and no one else. It’s over- you’re gone. Only the next morning I crawl next to you and beg for forgiveness. My head hurts. Please, show me some tenderness. Show me some love. It’s not my fault I was born so sensitive. You call me a cunt and then bring me a cup of tea. I remember so little, yet what I do shines brightly.