You always said the kitchen was our gathering place.
“Over fine food families are saved.”
We’ve finally begun washing away the smoke gathered on your plates. Odds and ends scavenged from charred remains gather dust among piles of bills. There’s a bill for every emotion it seems but our payment for grief falls short.
In your absence we gather under your favorite tree. We try to laugh but they burn our lungs on the way out, so we stand and pretend. Maybe we believe you’ll turn the corner, picnic basket in hand. Maybe if we just squint a little harder …
“Breathe deep and count to three. When you wake up we’ll be done …”
Jessie’s eyes snapped open. For a man of 38 his back possessed a myriad of problems, waking up on the street never seemed to help matters.
Though it was snowing when the van plucked him from the corner this area was somewhat warm. There was light but surveying the sky Jessie couldn’t find the Sun. As his feet began sliding he noticed the street was covered in a yellow shellac.
In fact, every surface carried slick pastel colors.
Jessie had never heard of this side of town.
He wasn’t sure the “new life” promised was worth the uneasiness settling in his stomach.
“Fiona? Dave? I haven’t seen you two in weeks!” Dave covered Jessie’s mouth and pointed up.
“All done.” The sky jerked upwards as a monstrous hand deposited a new resident with a small thud.