"Don't be scared, Willie. Mommy'll catch ya!"
"I ain't scared! I'm waiting."
"Well, whatcha waitin' on Will? The dern tree is unstable! Just jump on down into Mommy's arms."
"I WILL... I will. Just, in a bit. Come back in a little."
"Willie, I am not leaving you here while your life is swinging on an old rotten fig tree. This dern tree's given me grief on grief over the years and I ain't lettin' it give me the ultimate grief! Not today, tomorrow, or never! No, sir."
"Momma, whatchu talking about?"
"DERNIT, Willie. I'm talking 'bout you! Just, oh Lord WATCH WHERE YOU STEPPIN'! Oh, Lord! Oh, ok, Ohhhh. Ok, just. Just a little easy jump. I always catch you safe and sound, don't I?"
"Yeah, but. But I just kinda wanna try it on my own, Momma... Ok?"
"Ohh..... dernit, Willie. Will ya just, just be a little careful. Or a lot careful, actually! A LOT, now y--"
"YEAH, Momma. I'll be CAREFUL! Ok?"
"Ohh. Ok."
"You gotta get outta the way or we'll both get hurt."
"I really don't wanna, Willie."
"I know, Momma. But, please?"

"Nothing you can't slice a knife with."

"Walk for failure, walk for side-notes."

"Sail the way to Magic Mile!"

"Don't be fearful, Willie, Mom'll catch ya!"

"After day light's finished, we all shut down."

"Twice an heirloom, it's been in my mother's chest for decades"

"Squeaky clean, is what I'll call you."

"Poke the Raptor. Write down your injuries."

"Don't slip on the clown vomit!"

"Never stop a mailman's journey."

"Never bleed a heartless whisper until you literally can't even."

"Then, my dear Walda, I will cower in the corner with my shame! I'm a religious man, WALDA!"

Raychelle wanted nothing more than to be basic. It would be a lie, of course. Her parents couldn't pay the rent, her clothes had holes put there by wear (not the clothing stores), and she wasn't allowed to have makeup at home. She was anything but.

BettyAnne and her crew of little ladies had just figured this out. Raychelle's dad had heard about the mean little ladies and couldn't stop himself from intervening last week.

"Where's your daddy now, RaySHIT!" BettyAnne yelled at her after last period when Raychelle was going to track practice. BettyAnne was a rich-pisser. Her mom was a doctor and her dad had money from awhile ago. Family money only seems to grow. "Heard that asshole is gonna go to jail for what he did to me!" BettyAnne sniffed in the tear that was begging to come out
and shrugged her shoulders.

Raychelle found her voice, but it had nothing nice to say, "He'll get out and fuck you up again you BITCH!"

Oh, that was the wrong thing to say. The little ladies were on Raychelle immediately. They pinned her arms behind her back and grabbed her ponytail and pulled it back so she had to look down to see forward.

"He's NEVER coming out! Your daddy's a deadbeat, a taker, and an evil bad man and he's gonna die in prison if my daddy's got anything to s--"

Raychelle swung her leg up and kicked BettyAnne right in the pussy. It didn't hurt like balls, but it hurt. But BettyAnne was more shocked and sore than hurt. She sputtered in disgust as her little ladies lost their grip and looked for guidance. Raychelle wriggled out and began to run away. But before she was too far, she turned around to spit a sassy, "Grow a pair, maybe you'll feel something next time!" and spun away.

BettyAnne shoved away her ladies. She rose holding her crotch. "Why'd she get AWAY?1 You SLUTS!" But she didn't really care, she just didn't like that she looked bad. She wanted to sit down.

Raychelle, meanwhile, kept running. No one was chasing her, but she was running fast! And it felt good to run. She found herself off campus in the wildflower field before she knew it.

She'd never been camping before. It felt like a basic thing to do. So she laid down in the flowers on her side and felt her heart keep running. She heard the bell signalling the start of after-school activities, but she didn't get up. Her heart soon cooled to a light jog and the May sun lulled her to sleep.

​In her sleep, she wept and was so, so happy she could cry. It was a short nap, but resting. She woke to find the day ending and her legs sore in a bad way. She should've stretched.

"Just don't say things JUST to piss me off, ok, Ray? No, I'm serious! Goddamnit, I am! If you have one, even just one other measly fucking reason you are saying something - that's fine. Alright? Just. Just don't say something SOLELY to piss me off.

"I can't fucking STAND you sometimes."

"Well, it certainly wouldd be nice if we didn't have to pick up the mulch today. Can't you do that on your own?" Harry smiled without his teeth.

"Well, it's just 5 minutes out of the way." Essa promised from the driver's seat and made the left turn away from their house.

They rode in silence. It was miserable. They arrived at the mulch place. Essa got out of the car and walked towards the great pile of mulch. The parking lot of the mulch place was totally empty. It must be because it's a Sunday, Harry thought.

Essa got back in the car and slammed the door shut. 

"No mulch..." Harry shook his head and furrowed his brow. He opened his palm to Essa like it was her turn to talk.

"Just wanted to make sure it was available." Harry's eyes widened. Essa went on, "It was. Is."

Harry fumed and slammed his fist on the horn for like 4 seconds. He looked back at his girlfriend and said it. She agreed, but couldn't say it back. 

They had to sign a new lease in less than a week.

Mina had wanted to live many lives but she couldn't choose. She had wasted all her time setting herself up to be so damn ready when the opportunity struck. But she never went out and found the opportunity.

She was ready now, but now she wasn't anxious. Some anxiety could've helped her. She ended up happy with a woman who loves her very much. They're comfortable. It's all so reasonable.

She's living part of her dream, really. Not all of them, but she's living the roughest sketch of dream town. Why did she want more? How could she? It felt like she should. Could she still pull it off?

It all seems so hard now.

There's a shiny drop on her nose I can't wait to wipe away. She's almost done - ok, here I go.
"Aw, shit I'm sorry, Liss. Was trying to wipe something off your nose there."
"You fucking punched me, Fredrick! What in the literal mother-FUCK!"
"Yeah, I mean, aw crap. I'm real sorry, Liss."
She's shaking her head pretty hard, oh damn. Ok I can come back from this.
"Like, damn. Really screwed that up, eh?" She's not laughing. Ok, try again. "Let me try again."
"NO! Jesus, no, Fred, quit reaching for my face, you ass. What are you even trying to wipe off?" She wipes it away - damn.
"Oh, well, darn, well it's gone. It was just a drop."
Why isn't she reacting. Say something! SOMETHING!
"Yeah, well just a drop, Liss. That's all it was, y'know I've b-"
"You interrupted and punched me to wipe a drop of fucking sweat from my nose? Jesus. Were you even listening to me?"
Ok I think I'm reading her wrong - she looks mighty mean.
"Well, yeah... It's cute - I was trying to be, but you, too, y'know?"
"Y'know what? Huuuh. I don't know, it doesn't matter anymore. I've got to get back to work, but think about what I said, I guess. I just don't know how much longer I can let it go. Ok?"
She wants me to say it back, but it's not ok. Oh, fuck she's just leaving.
"W-wait! Liss!"
"WHAT?"
"I-I just, y'know-"
"Listen, I said what I wanted to, it was a lot, I know. Just... process. Ok? I really have to go." Fuckfuckfuck. "Ok?"
"Ok." Wait! No, damn, no that's not - oh Liss don't go! I didn't hear what you said! I was distracted! Just say it one more time, please! I suck! I suck I suck I suck!
"Ugh." Fuck sandwiches. 

"Elbreth, the liver's not quite right. Please cook it again."

Elbreth froze in fear. This was the first dish he'd cooked for his new employers. He'd only been cooking for a year or so, anyway. He was a "Butler". Adding the "/Cook" was a survival thing. Necessary, in this economy.

"Of-of course, Mr. Gluffwhich. Would you like me to c-cook it again, or maybe get some more liver and cook that?"

"Don't be pedantic with me, now, Elbreth. You can't cook something more to make it better unless it's too raw. Which is rare." Mr. Gluffwhich licked his lips.

"What Charles means to say, is please cook some more liver," Mrs. Gluffwhich smiled, "only this time, cook it right."

Elbreth gulped.

"Of, course. Of course. Th-the thing is I-I think, that is, I believe, we are out of, of well, raw liver. Should I perhaps, go? And get some more from the grocers?"

"OUT OF LIVER!?!" Mr. Gluffwhich guffawed. "Preposterous, Elbreth. We. Always. Have liver. In this house!" Mr. Gluffwhich put his hands to the dining table, pushed off to scoot his chair back, and rose to face his servant.

"Of-f-of course. Of course. I th-thought as much, but, of course, I simple don't, foolishly, I I think I know exactly where to find, or, well, where exactly it is. The liver, that is..." Elbreth was dripping like medium-rare steak.

Mrs. Gluffwhich chuckled as her husband began to traipse, step by labored step, towards Elbreth's sweaty body, "Ha-haah-ohh, Elbreth. Don't be coy! I think you know where to find it, you silly man. Charles, here, will show you where you can always find some liver."

Mr. Gluffwhich smiled so wide it closed his eyes. He reached his left hand gingerly to Elbreth's shoulder and motioned to the kitchen with his open right hand. Elbreth started walking, but Gluffwhich stayed calmly behind. They entered the kitchen single-file. Elbreth peeked over his shoulder repeatedly and, each time, the palm would egg him forward. They finally got to the fridge/freezer combo.

"Open the freezer, Elbreth," Mr. Gluffwhich smiled again without eyes. Elbreth pulled on the large freezer drawer until it slid out. The inside was filled with dozens of vaccuum-sealed bags of at least 8 types of organs. They were labeled, grouped, and alphabetized.

"So there's brain, heart, aaand liver - here is it," Mr. Gluffwhich reached in and pulled out the bag with "LIVER" written on it in fat sharpie. "Now, come to the counter on the island over here, Elbreth, and I'll show you how I want you..." he trailed off a bit.

Gulps again. Elbreth was mesmerized by terror, miserable with doubt, nauseous with awkward.

Mr. Gluffwhich led the way now: walking to the kitchen island, sliding open a knife drawer, pulling out a gorgeous Japanese 8" chef's knife with turquoise in the handle, and plopping the frozen bag of liver on the counter.

"How can you see when you're so far away, Elbreth," Mr. Gluffwhich asked without looking back. Elbreth sighed quickly, tiptoed up next to the man with the knife, and said nothing.

Gluffwhich lurched as Elbreth got close, grabbing the wrist of his servant in a vice grip. Elbreth yelped and tried to run. But he had realized the obvious solution too late. He could only squeal and begin to cry as Mr. Gluffwhich shoved him up against the island and pinned him there.

"Now this is quite enough, Elbreth. Cooperate or I'll be done with you. Now grab the bag of liver." Elbreth hesitated. "GRAB IT, you FOOL!"

Elbreth complied with a helpless whimper that quickly became a terrible moan. Mr. Gluffwhich raised the knife to eye-level. The glare reflected off of the blade and into Elbreth's eyes, making him avert his gaze upward. He felt the man swing the knife down to the counter.

"OOOHHhhh..." shouted Elbreth, but soon he stopped. There was no pain. He looked down slightly, shocked, and found Mr. Gluffwhich puzzling at him. He looked farther down at the counter and saw the knife sticking vertically out of the liver. Elbreth felt woozy.

"Honestly, Elbreth, I don't know what's gotten into you. Now, take the knife and slice the liver while it's still frozen. This is how I like it - perfect, even cooking. Now, try to cook it once more - we'll have the liver as a little after-dinner treat - WON'T WE, CAROLINE?!"

"Yes, of course, dear!" Mrs. Gluffwhich bellowed back from the other room. Elbreth was still speechless and looked desperately pale.

"Come now, Elbreth, one simple task. Surely it's not... too much for you?"

Elbreth briefly found his voice, "...nuhh..."

"Perfect, then," Mr. Gluffwhich walked casually back towards the dining room as Elbreth started to wobble and lose consciousness. Elbreth's legs gave out after a second or two and he collapsed on the ground.

"His heart is so weak, darling," Mrs. Gluffwhich was in the doorway to the kitchen where she now met her husband. "I wonder how long he'll last." They sighed together and looked down at the pale form of their butler/cook on the ground. They walked over to him and released their embrace. Mrs. Gluffwhich bent over and grabbed Elbreth's ankles, while Mr. Gluffwhich reached under the arms. On three, they lifted the limp man in the air and trudged to the servant's staircase on the other end of the kitchen. 

The Gluffwhiches carried their employee down the 15 stairs that led to his hallway. Mr. Gluffwhich had to readjust his grip at the bottom. Ready again, they waddled down the basement hallway and backed into the room of the fainted man they held. Once lined up against the bed, they dropped him on the sheets.

Mr. Gluffwhich squatted near the bed and lifted Elbreth's body a bit so that Mrs. Gluffwhich could pull the sheets down from underneath. The sheets now released, she placed them carefully over Elbreth's body and tucket them in a bit at the shoulders. The Gluffwhiches shared a wipe of the brow, another (easier) sigh, and a look. They exited the room holding hands and turned off the light.

Today I came into my studio and she finally had worked on the portrait! Still to early to tell if it is a self-portrait, even if I did know what she looks like. She's focusing on the face shape and, I assume, she will paint in the face details once she got the rest just right.

Until today, the painting hadn't changed at all since I started renting half of the studio 3 months ago. 3 months of assuming. First, I assumed she was on vacation. Then, I assumed we had different schedules. Then, I assumed our schedules were mutually exclusive. A month in, I assumed she had died, or been a ghost the whole time. Two months in, I assumed she had gotten pissed when someone (me) had moved into the other half of the studio and was either actively avoiding me, watching me, sabotaging my work, or all three.

How could someone go three months without working? Maybe she didn't do this for money. I did, but it didn't make me much. She was good, though. More than a hobbyist. I mean, she paid for the studio.

I started taking pictures of her half of the studio each time I was there. And, mostly, it didn't change. But there were... little changes. Her hoodie would be laying differently, maybe. Or the easel would face a slightly different angle. Or the stain of a new color would leave itself on the palette - like she was mixing up new colors in the middle of the night, determined to get back on the wagon and finish her masterpiece, only to be crippled by self-doubt once again and give up before she could move the new color to canvas, so she would wash the palette clean to keep it in good condition.

I worried for her.

How could she be so critical of herself? Was she as critical of my work? Or did she praise my work?! Was she so intimidated by my prowess that she couldn't bear to work on her own stuff or even confront or greet me? Was she star-struck?

My God, what have I done?

Maybe I'll make something shitty today. To cheer her up a bit. Maybe she'll be inspired by my mediocrity and find herself again. Shoe herself to me - if she exists at all. Maybe I'll leave her a note setting a time to finally meet in our shared space. It'll say I like her work and want to see more. You can't not reply to a note from your studio-mate, can you? Would she be so heartless? Or would she feel condescended? I certainly could like her work, if she ever finished it. The additions I happened upon today aren't substantial, but they look nice enough. The background looks excellent, actually. Really, excellent. I just want more.

Finish, sweet ghost! Finish your art. Oh, I hope this isn't my fault.

Mrs. Henderson has a surprise for Mr. Henderson: a dozen fresh, little babies!

She promised she'd get them from Safeway on her way home from work and, this time at least, she actually remembered. She had even popped the carton open at the store and tickled each of their little sleeping or cooing heads to make sure they hadn't made a diaper-mess already. These little tykes were whole and clean.

Mr. Henderson is overjoyed! He opens the carton and smiles down at the 12 little babies he's been waiting for. They have her eyes.

Tomorrow, they will have breakfast as a family again. It's been too long.