Edited June 3 2017

I snaked the chain through the handles, slipped on the lock, threw it shut. Faces on the glass fists mouths silent shouts eye whites. A policeman came to me. Looked at the doors, the chain, the lock.

Looked at me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

I slipped the stiletto point into the flesh under his jaw. I looked into his eyes as he looked into mine with that mild surprise they all show.

“What do you think I’m doing?”

I snaked the chain through the handles, slipped on the lock, threw it shut. Faces on the glass beating fists torn mouths silent shouts eye whites. A policeman came to me. Looked at the doors, chain, lock. Looked at me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

I slipped the stiletto point into the flesh under his jaw, tickled deep. Blood pumped in spastic bursts. I looked into his eyes as he looked into mine with that sense of mild surprise they all show. Gently, I took his face in my hand.

“What do you think I’m doing?”

Broken light through trees. Shadows and sunshine. Light breeze playing in the leaves. Overhead a plane rumbles distantly, and thin clouds break twist and tear silently. I lay your body in the leaves and straighten your limbs. The woods fall silent. I smell earth and wood and dried sun. Vines weave out of the earth, slide lightly over your body. Dark beetles make their home in your breast, deeply. I watch you crumble the smokeless burning of decay claiming you utterly while vines and beetles begin to wrap my feet in loving embrace.

silence, frowns, fumbling with cutlery. a glass clinked. silence. i cleared my throat. glanced round. nearby, the machine sat in the corner, winking quietly to itself. i smiled. exuded calm and positivity. He coughed once, picked up His wine glass, drained it off, set it down. a little loudly. i smiled with bared teeth, tried to indicate everything was good. but it was not good. He spoke aramaic. i spoke english. the others german, french, greek. in the corner, the machine winked and whirred and none of us knew what the hell was going on.

We branded his left cheek. He squirmed, but remained controlled and did not cry. I turned to the class. “What do we call this?” “Being a team player.” “Right.” I looked at the bright, eager faces. “When we take the field tomorrow we are a team. No one lets the team down, no one shirks the team. We are one.” I picked up the hair clippers and switched them on. They buzzed angrily. I turned and looked at the young faces, the newly branded left cheeks. I raised the clippers. “Who’s first?”

Wasp. Notebooks were waved, pens thrown. It sipped some of my tea. I batted at it with a ruler and it surged into the air. Everyone fanned out around the office. It tried flying out an open window – a mandarin was perched nearby as a lure, they like the color orange – but as it was about four feet long (minus stinger) it couldn’t fit through. Someone grabbed a spray-can but the wasp was ready for that and smacked it out of their hands. Eventually it lumbered into the darkness under a desk, and slept. We returned to work, waiting.

We’re sorry, but the organization has changed and we don’t believe you fit any longer. It’s not that we’re unhappy with your work, it’s just that we are changing. I know it’s hard to hear, after you’ve put your heart into your job, it’s just the nature of things. We’ll give you excellent references, of course. Big J– on the East Side has openings at the moment. Needs knifemen. Seriously, some of his boys made 300G last year for just occasional killing. My wife’s sister’s husband works there as a bagman – I can put in the good word for you.

We hunted them, found them, took them back. They kept escaping. All day we headed out, found prints in dry earth, caught them crouched beneath rattling thorns. We were calm, silent, gentle. Walked back like dead men. No wind rattled bare trees. A white sun lost in a white sky. Eventually we decided to sedate them, complaining, lay them under slow fans, watch the growths turn blacker with passing hours. They died in front of us, each one. But we couldn’t let them die out there alone. No matter how much they wanted it we couldn’t have survived it.

We nailed the lid shut, dropped tools, shoved the crate into the water. Weight shifted inside. We moved deeper. There may have been a deliberate noise from within, but we did not stop. After a few minutes we cast the crate adrift into the middle of the moving water, and the weight shifted again threatened to roll steadied stayed upright. We stood and watched until it faded to grey. That night, around the fire, someone asked a question. Eyes stared unwaveringly at flames. Feet shifted. A log cracked. We tried not to think about the sound we couldn’t have heard.

We shot them at dawn. They had been fishing in the river, strong hands drawing bass with quick tugs of the rods. We watched them from the bushes; drew dry guns; caught hungry breath. When they were done they sat and smoked, feet dangling in water under the willows. The first shots took them, bullets through brow throat shoulder arm elbow. We rolled the bodies over, inspected clumsy wounds, took cigarettes matches shoes. When we had stolen what we could, we left. But only after I pushed the bodies into the water, keeping the bait happy.

His twisted body a weird form of beautiful and gruesome. We are silent. He has dropped from the sky and now lays at our feet, dead. For a moment we try to remember the meaning behind what he was doing, the importance. But it is difficult, for the wings, what remain of them, are so wonderful. Soft, strong, brilliant. They quietly invite you to reach out and stroke them. Under the tips of your fingers they are feathery, smooth, gently yielding. We try to remember the meaning, but in the beauty of the wings all is forgotten.

They came en-masse. Old, wornout, young; male, female, other; sane, insane, unassessed. Piss shit garbage clung to them, marked them as Other. A large quiet group walking in the mall. A school of grimy sardines they turned, and entered Jones’ Department Store.

They split up. They looked wonderingly at brushes; frowned in confusion at clothes; poked dirty fingers at shoe soles.

A young manager approached a knot of them. They were admiring an alpine outfit, Ready For Winter 2014.

He cleared his throat, paused. “May I help you?”

A man turned, shook his head. “No, we’re just browsing.”

I pick up the book and look at the cover. On it there is a photo of you. You are naked, reclining, propped on your elbows. Toward the viewer are your feet, thighs, hips. From between your thighs your bare sex extends, gouging up over your lower abdomen, running up toward your breasts. It is puckered, lurid, and wanton. I hide the book under the table for the image is something the sky should not look down on. Later we swim in thick blue waters that tremble like oil. Shoals of silver fish glimmer beneath the surface, asphyxiating.

We finished robbing the grave by late afternoon. We pulled the gold teeth with old pliers and sold to a merchant on Degraves. The eyes we sold to a mute woman at the market. The liver and kidney were salvageable; in the basement of Lord’s Mercy we got cash from a doctor whose hands shook uncontrollably. At the end of the day we retired to a dark bar by the river, to smoke and forget about the following day for a while.

When I got home she half-asked how my day had been. “Same old same old,” I half-replied.

In the dark of the deep water my body arches. A dull thudding vibrates my body and around me the water is gelid. The taste in my mouth is metallic. I spin angrily desperately. My back arches, like a dolphins, and I breathe in silent agony. Straining I thrash, a moment’s effort. The rise in me subsides momentarily and I drift back to the thick debris of deepest water. A false calm engulfs me. Then my blood rises again and I can feel surging. I am desperate for air and so rise to the surface, a slick desperate animal, gasping for breath. And in rising I die.

him? yeah, he’s my big brother yeah no not many people do what? yeah he’s the success of the family yeah if you are into that sort of thing I guess hey – can I get another here? yeah he was destined to be big so no surprise thanks ah look if that’s what people need then I guess that’s fine you know I don’t have strong feelings about it one way or the other what? me? God no no no interest at all happy anonymity let history forget me mmm anyway it’ll make for a better story

He walked into the store, down the dairy aisle, grabbed some milk, paid. Returning to his car he unlocked the door, climbed in, started it. He drove home through the hills. He swung into the gravel drive and stopped. He cut the engine, grabbed the milk, climbed out.

The kitchen door was open. He crossed to it and stepped inside. Some deer were inside, eating lunch. They stared back, silent. After a few minutes he spoke.

“What are you deer doing in my house?”

A buck considered him quietly. “What do you think we’re doing in your house?”

Your body twists weightless, and you drift deeper into the depths. Air lights you, small bright jewels that adorn your blue skin. Your eyes are closed. You could be sleeping. I reach out to touch you, but withdraw. You are perfect and I cannot sully you with the grimness of contact. Mouthy fishes from the blue black water rise to admire you, dart away as you slowly spin. I follow the line your upraised hand traces in the water as you sink. You are beautiful and untouchable and I follow at a respectful distance, warning off the fish.