Neurotransmitting

They almost saw me during the reception. We were dancing. I smiled wrong; I couldn’t remember the right smile, so I displayed a fake, scrounged from clouded memories of expressions. I’m empty where emotions were, so I impersonate. Sometimes I even wish they would notice.

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Calling Card

They’d spattered crimson on the piano, but she was playing, indifferent, when he returned with their lily.

“You play?”

She unfurled a minor chord. “It’s relaxing.”

He knelt, avoiding the blood, and wrapped the dead fingers around the lily’s stem.

They were gone before the chord died away.

Something Out of Nothing

“Can you see anything?”

The streets are scorched. The buildings we once inhabited are gray shells. The ashes fall lightly on me. I pretend it’s snow.

“There’s nothing to see.”

They knew they were losing, and they couldn’t tolerate us returning to our homes. First they stole our resources, then our people, now our futures.

Our son lifts a case from the rubble: Grandmama’s seed stash, overlooked in its humble box. Inside, the colorful packets aren’t even singed.

“Isn’t that something.”

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Chaos Terrain

“You’re serious.”

“Of course I am.”

He wouldn’t take the pamphlet from her hands. She folded it to her chest.

“It’s one-way,” he said. “Why would you go?”

Her footprints in iron oxide dust; her name writ in discovery’s legacy; new stars, herself among them.

“Because,” she whispered. “It’s Mars.”

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Anchoring Andromeda

Our stars are gone. These constellations feature cryptic mythologies, strange heroes, beasts whose silicon fossils disturb our archaeologists. We located the Milky Way – a distant glimmer – but I kept searching.

There, above the rose-gold aurora: a golden pinpoint, our new North Star.

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Light in Winter

In the drafty farmhouse, there are many windows, and in winter, the aunts put a candle in each one. Their most-trod paths are marked with dripping wax like red-dash routes to buried treasure, and their windows drape the snowy night with gold.

Internet Friends

we stay up late, shouting
across time zones so
we’re heard over gas lamps
and bull and inner voices
whispering unworthiness

shouting across plates of waffles
and mugs of our enemies’ tears
to plot revenge
or just hilarity or just
a hug