fiction

Dear Future Lover

How are you? I’ve been feeling a little down lately. You see, I miss you terribly. How is that, you ask, when I’ve never even met you? Well, you see, it’s easy.

I have this dream about you. It’s a recurring dream, though I don’t have it often enough. In it you love me more than life itself, and I love you the same way. You want to be near me all the time. You would even give your life for me!

With this in mind, I wrote a story about you. In our story (because I’m in it too, of course), there is an evil witch who wants to pull us apart. She attaches herself to you like a leech. In one part of the story I even tried pouring salt on her! But all it did was stung her eyes and she punished YOU for it. It was horrible. I knew I couldn’t try such a thing again.

So I waited. And I waited. And eventually … she died! I know it wasn’t very nice of me, but I rejoiced. So then you and I finally got back together and we lived happily ever after.

Did you like my story? I hope so.

Now all I have to do is meet you. Do you think our real story will go the same way as my made-up story? I hope not. Please promise me you’ll stay away from witches, both until we meet and after.

Thank you.

Just writing to you has cheered me up a bit. I’m going to close this letter now, but before I do I just want to say I love you. And I can’t wait to meet you.

Yours truly,

Imaginaria

xxx

P.S. I might write to you again, so don’t forget to watch out for another letter.

I.

The Note, Part 7

It knows what I’m thinking.

I called my friend Josh and asked him to meet for coffee. I was going to tell him about the notes. Sure, I had no proof. I didn’t get to keep any of them. It’s enough to make me think I’m crazy, but Josh and I go way back. I really think he’d believe what I’m seeing.

But then I got another note, just before I was about to walk out the door.

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What’s really fucked up about this? I still have the note. It didn’t disappear, even when I let go of it in my pocket.

Will this thing hurt me if I tell Josh? I have PROOF now.

What do I do?

To start at the beginning, go here.
For Part 6, go here.

The Note, Part 6

I thought for sure something weird would happen yesterday. It was Halloween for fuck sakes. I walked around all day, looking over my shoulder, expecting to see a note pop up.

Nothing. No-friggin-thing. Even today. Nothing.

So I sat down with a beer to watch tv tonight, to catch a rerun of CSI. I just took a sip and turned to look where I was putting the bottle and when I looked back, there’s the note, stuck to the tv screen.

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I got up to grab the note but then this (holy shit) feeling. It was like something was pushing on the side of my face.

I went in the other direction, towards the window. I… I looked down from my apartment window just in time to see a cab t-bone a Mercedes, right in the middle of the fucking road.  

I’ve got to talk to somebody about this shit. I just have to think of who wouldn’t think I’m on drugs.

As usual, the note is gone.

 

 
To go to The Note, Part One, click here.

Mouse (the Rat deserves no mention)

It’s a game of rat and mouse we play
You with the treacherous paw
Curling your finger so enchantingly,
“Come here, come here,”
your breath is sweet like onions
and your teeth gleam
making me wonder what tidbit,
what delicious speck of sugar
you might have for me…

I inch forward, my nose atwitching
for the scent of danger
but you’re good,
you’re so so good
that all I can sense
is your candy-coated grin
and I’m mesmerized
by that tiny finger
hypnotizing me with it’s
steady
crooked
temptation

I’m so close now I can feel your ratty stinky breath
on my whiskers
You smile,
your charm could placate a snake
and I relax
I tell you my woes
I turn over my sympathy,
like it was my firstborn
I give you
everything
all of me
all I hold dear

And then.
What do you do…?

Your ratty teeth no longer gleam
dear vermin,
your onion breath stings my eyes
Your insidious paw
with its needle-sharp claw
that has skewered everything
everything
everything I love
has a hair upon it
It is mine
from where you dug out the flesh
from my sleek mousy back
but what you don’t realize

You will choke on it all
dear rat
Your blessed rat life
where you’ve gathered so much
shitty gold
will turn to dust
And you, poor withered rat
will die
with my hair
in your throat.

The Note, Part 5

It’s the day before Halloween and I’m standing outside the door of my local corner store, shaking like a leaf. I can’t believe it.

In my pocket is a winning lottery ticket. The prize is too big for the store to pay me. They only pay up to $1,000, so I have to mail the ticket off to the lottery head office.

This note was on my living room couch when I got home from dinner out with friends last night, at 7:10:

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My lottery ticket is for exactly $1,026.00.

Is this thing that’s leaving me notes actually a lucky angel or some fucking thing? I’m feeling pretty lucky today.

 

 
For Part One of The Note, click here.

The Note, Part 4

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The note’s been following me around since yesterday morning. When I woke up it was sitting on top of my coffee maker. When I got to work it was stuck to my computer screen. It was even sitting on the only unoccupied seat on the bus.

The date is old – June 29, 2013. 9:35am.

What does it mean?

It’s stuck to my tv screen now. It won’t come off.

The Note

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The note was weird, but I thought, okay, so I just wouldn’t take a bath last night. And yet it kept me awake all night. The date matched the day I found it, so I assumed the time was correct as well. But if someone had written it at 9:43 am, and I left home at 8:17am to go to work, how had the note ended up on my fridge before I got home at 5:56pm? I live alone.

When I got up this morning I looked for the note, where I had left it on the kitchen table. The note was gone. Nowhere to be found.

I assume it will be safe to take a bath tonight.

Insignificance

I met you, and in five minutes you had wiped me right off the planet with your charm.

Now, a mere hour later, I am ashes in your wake.

It is clear as crystal.

As fine as the softest downy feather.

That you were meant

For a certain kind of hell.

How else can one like me, with nothing to my name but the clothes on my back,

describe the likes of you, with your mirages and mirrors?

You who takes and takes and gives back fire

to burn the skin from my bones

and leaves me smouldering by the side of the road.

But you love it.

You ache for it.

You, who deserves only to be exposed

to a certain kind of hell.

Late Autumn

How crisp is this day? When the leaves rustle like castanets in the hands of a child, chilled to the bone from playing outside too long; and the green grass is tipped with glittering white specks of frozen dew.

Ah, the joy of coming winter. The sun sets before our sup and refuses to rise in the morning, appearing in the east slowly, like a stubborn teenager.

Christmas is but a bargain away, All Hallows Eve a pile of wrappers hidden under the sofa cushion.

And the days are crisp, the nights desirous of a fireplace.

Ice Queen

The Ice Queen sat upon her throne and twiddled her thumbs. Her silver rings clicked together – the spectators could hear them in the back row, so quiet was it.

“You call that a performance?” she asked the man in the hat, who had just kissed a woman in a trenchcoat?

“I…I’m…” he stuttered.

“SILENCE!” She breathed through her nose. Someone in the back row coughed and with a flick of her wrist, off came the spectator’s head.

“Come here.” She curled a finger at the actor.

He staggered forward, the fear in his eyes all but thrummed.

“Kiss me,” the Ice Queen whispered. She puckered her lips.

The actor leaned forward… and vomited his dinner into the Ice Queen’s lap.

The Ice Queen screamed and the guards murdered the audience. Every last one of them. Only the Ice Queen, the actors and the guards were left standing.

She stood from her throne. She decreed that there should be a new audience.

The performance would be repeated the next night, as it had been every night for a year.

Tomorrow, perhaps the actor would get it right.