CW: death implied

Love, Backwards

At the end of it, he left me. Romeo left me. A pair of taillight eyes staring as he drove off into the night. This would never happen with a Hank. A Hank would never promise forever like Romeo did, his words curly and warm in my ear.

At the middle of it, I was pleading with Romeo. Red claw words all over his throat. I was saying things like give me back my heart even though you used it up and kept me from all sorts of Hanks. I said I never meant to get in deep like this, but it was all that stupid moon and lilac breeze, and me thinking this was just a stub of my heart, a bruise I thought would pass. 

At the beginning of it, it was a silky night in June.

Like the Penguins

“Mine is mac and cheese,” Louie says.

“Mine’s mashed potatoes.” Chuckie says.

“I told you we could eat the clouds,” Louie says.

“They don’t taste like much,” Chuckie says.

“My mother hasn’t been home for days,” Louie says. “She went to get real food for me. She says that’s what lady penguins do. She says men penguins are better than human men and that I should try to grow up penguin.”

“What happened to your father?” Chuckie says.

“He didn’t want to be a penguin,” Louie says. 

“My mom tried to be a penguin once,” Chuckie says. “But she just froze to death.”

“Everyone down there is frozen now.” Louie says. 

“What if she doesn’t come back?” Chuckie says. “The clouds are almost gone and the air is gonna stop holding us up.”

“Yeah,” Louie says. “But my mom said no matter what I have to wait. 

“Maybe we could go down anyway.” Chuckie says. “Take the place of the men that were guarding the eggs.”

“Nah,” Louie says. “My mom says I’m still too close to being an egg myself.”

 Chuckie gathering his collar. His fingers beginning to blue.

“I hope my mother brings back cocoa and warm cookies.” Louie says. 

“I’m still hungry,” Chuckie says. “If we knew when your mom was coming, we could eat some more of the clouds.”

“Well, maybe,” Louie says, “more clouds will gather. Maybe it will rain.”

“Too cold now for rain,” Chuckie says, going frozen and frozener. 

Louie’s own mouth hardening now, the air more icicle than anything. Below them, no one’s mother, at least none of them moving anymore. And the ground itself, stretched out like a long shivering page,