One-Way Ticket
Curls of smoke chased the darkness away. Its hair-like strand slid down across the night. The ghostly white against the black was like watching the whispers of last night’s conversation. As quickly as the words were breathed, the smoke disappeared.
Snuffing the cigarette out against a decaying, wooden bench, I watched its red light turn to gray. A few embers landed on the ground, still burning deeply. Its light would not go out, but with a second look, the embers were nothing but ash across the grass.
The time would come. I just had to be patient. What was my rush? Why was I that eager to leave? Why did I not want to stay?
The burden of my life weighed heavily on me. My shoulders hunched over. Nerves begged to lose the strain, but the weight was still there. Was that why I was leaving? Was it that my life was too hard, and I never got my dreams off the ground? Was I just giving up because I couldn’t stand this noose around my neck, or should I stay and fight?
“It’s time.” He was here. “Are you ready?” I dared not to look up. “Do you still want to go?”
“Yes…”
Dressed in shadow, his dark eyes gazed down toward me. His hands were hidden underneath the cloak. It almost seemed like he hovered over the ground, and I wondered if he was wearing shoes or if he was walking barefoot. “Let’s go,” and he held out a ghostly hand toward me. But I did not take it.
“Where will we go?”
“Wherever you want.”
“To the next life?”
“If you so wish, but remember. That weight you feel will follow into the next life.”
“So, why go then, if I cannot get rid of it?” The hand dropped away. “I want to be able to breathe.”
“You are breathing.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I have a schedule to keep.” I finally looked at him. “Others are waiting.”
“I do want to go.” I forced myself from the bench. “What if I change my mind? Can I change my mind?”
“It’s your life.” He was now impatient. “You have a long list of complaints. They date back to over ten years. This was a one-time request to opt-out early.”
“If I don’t go, how long will I remain here?” I was more afraid of that answer than taking his hand. “How much time do I have left?”
“Twenty-five years.”
“Twenty-five years? What am I supposed to do with that?”
“Live.”
“Live? How? How do I live? This world is so hard, frustrating. How do I live here?”
“You’ll have to ask customer service.” He moved away.
“Wait!”
“Do you want to go?” He moved upon me fast, almost knocking me backward. “Yes or no.”
“Yes.” I looked down at my feet. “No. I just don’t know how to live.”
“Just live. Live.” His words were now like a faint whisper curling up against the night.
Sitting back down on the bench, I returned to kicking the grass in front of me. My fingers flexed against each other. I bit my lip, deep in thought. I could have gone. I could have escaped, but I didn’t. What do I do now?
“Just live,” and I nodded, mouthing those words.
“I will,” and with that said, I too disappeared.
Friendship Rises Over the Dead Zone
We met across the Dead Zone.
One touch.
One word.
Two lives connected across the void.
Time passed on along journey,
and we marched forward
with memories in hand,
but have we
hit a wall?
Did we let go?
I’ve known you
a very long time,
but we’ve never met.
Yet, we are two pieces
of the same heart,
but can you
feel us beating?
Or have we finally reached
a place of no return,
our Dead Zone?
