join my mailing list
| connect - share - support |
Joshua Brown
Windy weather wrung it's wispy fingers around the landscape. She couldn't tell if it was broken tokens being spent on the weather jukebox or if the multiverse had adjusted to erase the decades of calm, peaceful ambiance that she had grown to know and love. I wondered to myself if she was going to notice the broken ground stretching around us.
We were travelers. Well, well, well, the government couldn't find us. They wanted to see the typos in our existence, the dreamscapes that we imagined could exist in the cities from Xiao to Trastyopian. The state of being just couldn't keep up, because every time we returned to our little slice of heaven, they were a few moments behind. Except now, something was different.
Suddenly an anvil came crashing down from the sky, my partner succumbed to gravity and the transfer of energy. Her smile never stopped, the curiosity that she exuded covered her, even until the last moment. I screamed, lurching forward.
Pause.
The children could not imagine nor process the stories and imagineering of the stories now told in veiled allusions by the great movie-houses of the 21st century. The suicide and gore, the genocide, the betrayal, constantly injected into every eyeball that these hedonistic kings artfully prescribe to be is beyond the quick gut punch of me losing my partner in only a few hundred words.
But perhaps the saddest dream, the infintismol tpoinfenasdfjuieopn of injustice, nay violence, done by this short story is the annihilation of her. For she is remembered, not by you, nor by me, for the erasure of her was complete. A moment remembered, a moment forgotten.
Brown waters lapped at the shore of the small creek I stood upon. Then a shooting star appeared above the creek, it looked as though it was patrolling, not meandering, but intentful on traversing the space just above the creek. It was not in a hurry. As it got closer, I turned my eyes away, for their was a certain violence in the star, and I did not wish to offend nor engage unnecessarily with one who's angelic imposition was shinier than I. Instead, as if ignoring the very presence of this observer, I began to disrobe. My flabby skin and flaccid penis could perhaps dissuade the star from engaging in me as a particularly important person of interest.
What courage.
God knew that I was a manipulative asshole. Maybe this star would be less sophisticated.
The star passed over me, continuous and with no eyes for me to perceive gaze. Instead.
Fuck, I remembered my partner. There were a few flashes of moments, but it was not the moments that mattered, the moments could be forgotten, they could be erased forever by the state of being. By the grand erasure of government, by the kings of time. But I felt.
TREASON.
Kilos of drugs rushed through my veins, the sweet relief of connection, the simple feelings of being human had returned. Love, connection, anger, rage, humility, acceptance, valor, courage, impatience, kindness all flooded back as I felt the sting of loss.
Plow down these trees.
Pregnant women hardly ever inspire nations. Especially to conquer enemies. I knew this and as I watched the star disappear into the vanishing point, beyond the reach of my dilated eyes, my dick began to grow hard. I enjoyed this place, for I knew that to exist as an animal among angels was to be safe from angels and my hedonistic impulses had protected me.
I ran.
I ran like a demon out of hell, for I knew deep down that I was trapped. I only had a few moments to escape this propaganda rained down upon me by the unseeing star. The very thoughts that I had were not my own but sown upon me in an attempt to destabilize me and draw me into annihilation and by extension, the annihilation of my partner, for it was I and I alone who carried the bones of her eternal godliness.
It was a bit awkward to run, maybe a tad painful, for when you have an erect penis, engorged and resistant to gravity, gravity itself is a much more unforgiving mistress. Tearing at the groin, I left behind my last possessions and fled into the nearby city.
Every building had a flag. Which flag did not matter, but if you did not have a flag on your house or car, you were martyred. And martyrdom was much different than annihilation. Martyrdom was actually a celebrated temptation. I felt my dick get limp again thinking about these important and philosophical flashes. Why, why, why, why kept trying to stamp out my whats.
Here was a perfect place to duck in! I ducked.
Fucking quacks.
Treachery was at the gates and I knew that I would be betrayed if I did not find the symbol of the Jesus. My eyes flitted toward each door along the alley ultimately despairing that there was no refuge here. So I opened the door. I walked through this house, stole some clothes and continued on my way through the city.
Grab the knob, wait. Something was off.
Right below eye level was a peep-hole, and when I went to look through, out into the alley, away from the house and the future arrival of the owner of the not-yet-stolen clothes, I felt an immediate shock, my body immersed deep into the undulations of a power that I did not understand or recognize.
Instinctually, I gasped for air and my eyes glossed over, my vision blurred, my muscles twitched, until, I thought. Suddenly the memories all came flooding back, the good, oh the immense good. The times we laughed and tickled, the times that we fucked and kissed and sang to eachother. I felt the doorknob, not sweaty, but warm in my left hand.
A cough caught me, almost took me down as my breathing labored. I had a small necklace around my neck, it held a small heart-shaped locket, stolen from the dresser. I tapped it, trying to adjust my heart beating, trying to reassure my lungs that I indeed was still aware of the limits of my physical body and that the danger had passed.
She was never coming back, but I still had her. She was dead. And I was Jesus to her Lazarus, carrying her story, her legacy, her eternality, back to the people that were still alive, back to the people that had already forgotten her.
In the peep-hole, I saw a quiet slightly breezy avenue with leaves shimmering in the now-fading, late afternoon light. A few buildings down, across the street, I could see a child playing in the yard. If it was a child. I watched for a few minutes.
The child had short, bright blonde hair and was wearing jean overalls. He seemed to be really focused on some type of imaginative figurine play. He seemed to be moving between two points of interest he had arranged in the yard. Whatever he was playing with was too small for me to make out from this distance, especially considering the fisheye distortion the peephole forced.
She had been a criminal, at least that's what the municipal judges had determined. Especially the judges of Littlelight, god, they really threw the book at her. I had told her it was stressful to deal with these assholes, the city just did not care about what was in her best interest. Their only real care was the insurance policy coverage being renewed with a 3.5% discount the next fiscal year. Oh and maintaining voter legitimacy.
That's why we had started hopping. It was actually her idea. We had both worked on the practical aspects of the practice, but this was her way of keeping us safe. Shit.
Fuck the state.
I felt the doorknob move. But myself being so deep in thought, so lost in the memories and the rage, I barely noticed until the door itself swung open.
It was, perhaps, the ugliest women you've ever seen in your life. Her body was curvy in all the right places, but it was as if an alien had tried to create a clay version of a sexy woman. The face itself was distorted, uneven features stared at me in disbelief. Shock mixed with skin scarring and an incredible overreliance on makeup to cover this slightly sagging skin couldn't hide the years of frowning, the grooves in the forehead shone through and I suppose, my face showed more disgust than surprise, for she immediately turned to superiority rather than rage.
I did not allow her the time to react fully though, for, just as she began to say "who do you think you are, you fuckin..." I shoved her flabby body out of the way and ran.
I ran like a demon out of hell.
The little boy heard some commotion from us and he stood up to stare, his physical stature growing, beyond even that of a normal adult, he stood still and as I ran closer, then past, he grew to nearly the size of the second floor window sills. My feet pounded the pavement so loud, I thought the entire city might soon hear me. It was these damn shoes. They were too big for my feet.
Dreamscapes flooded my mind as I remembered, I remembered this feeling, this feeling of freedom, escaping from the city, from the government, from the state of being. No one could stop us. But they stopped her. What?!
That was impossible. No one could stop her.
Lust overcame me, return, return to the deep. I leapt, channeling all my thoughts into the deepest ocean I had ever dared to dive, into the depths of love and emotion, into the depths of ideas and dreams, into the darkness of pure experience, into the water. And as I fell, I fell so fucking deep. Right out of their world and back into the world where she was still alive.
Except she was, and it was me who was dead. Almost.
Someone had dived before me, someone was here, watching as I dove, as I observed more of the foundations of me and them and her and us and God. And as I fell, as I floated into a deeper state, someone grabbed me from behind and stabbed me. Repeatedly. But I had practiced for this.
Skin flapped in the turbulence of the water as I relaxed into a state of calm and silence. Their hands grabbed my shoulders and twisted me around to check my face for life. In my periphery, I could see the bloodied blade floating static in the water. The face staring into my own had no eyes, but I could tell that it was her. My partner had returned to take me out with her. Rage emanated from her orifices. Her nose quivered, her mouth shriveled and her ears were beet red.
If I would have moved, she would have finished me off and we both would have disappeared, but the only way that both of us would survive would be for me to ignore her hatred, her rage, her violence, her lust for revenge, her pain and her indulgence in anger. Against me.
We were sinking deeper, me, her and the murder weapon.
Very deep, I began to notice her touch soften on my shoulders. Her fingernails no longer were digging into my skin, and the blood oozing from my back began to coagulate in the deep salt of this mysterious deep. There were nearly imperceptible lines, almost like lasers, giving me sense as to movement. The light of our bodies was the only sense of 4th dimension I could see. It was dark and there was no one else here with us. US.
Me.
Here. But there were more of us, more of US. Those who knew her, and I had to make it back to them. Back to... They had watched, they had watched, they had stood and fucking watched as she died and they had forgotten her, forgotten me, forgotten us, leaving us to annihilation, so that the state of being could remain. So that the government could remain. So that the city.
There was no way that I was going to let her kill me too, so I stayed, indefatigable in my rage against this suicide pact we had made. No one was going to forget me. No one was going to forget her.
My shallow masochism began to surface as the fear turned to sexual desire. She was dead, she was killing me, but I began to get hard again. But she had lost interest. With a slight shove, she sent me. Sent me to my watery grave of lonely depth. With my horny dick aroused by this strange betrayal and temptation to acquiesce to an indulgence in violence, in sadism and masochism. As I toppled over and over, she started swimming back to the surface.
Do you remember inspiring them? Do you remember lifting them up? Do you remember supporting them? Do you remember defending them? Do you remember protecting them? Do you remember?
They are dead, they are annihilated while still breathing.
We are alive and will be. Forgive us, children, for our forgettable shallowness.
She is alive, because I did not die. Nor will I, for erupting into the eternal sea of rarely touched depth, is the seed, the cum, the ejaculate, the life, that I shared, with her. And she will never fucking die.
#story #love #grief #loss #relationship #truelove #death #dream #vision #stagesofgrief #anarchy
---
Last Post - A Prayer of Renewal | Recent Poems | Alphabetical Poems
---
📅 Published August 25, 2025
📍 Written in Aurora, Colorado at Joshua's home near the West Toll Gate Creek
---
Who have you done mischief with? What shenanigans did you really believe in and act on? Where is that person now and what are they up to? What about you, how deep do your dreams and visions really go anymore? Do you stand up to corrupt people, do you defend what's right, do you defend people against the shallow hordes of violent masturbators and hedonists?
Please consider donating, this page lists all the different ways you can give.
Comments
Post a Comment