5th Place

“English is a miraculous language, isn’t it?”
He observed her countenance as if he laid out a riddle:
“Why—how?”
She remarked on his enthusiasm with anticipation of another satire or a lame joke,
“How ‘love’ is utmost similar to ‘live,’ yet different.”
Caught between curiosity and skepticism, almost as though she’s aware of how abstract it all sounds but still intrigued by the possibly deeper point he’s trying to make,
She captures the solemn, which was impalpable in that space before his last utterance.

Blots of ink all over her white dress.
She rests the palette gently.
Her imaginative pattern is a mess.
She empties the cigarette case, squinting her lips.
Left hand high on muscle memory, she grips the lighter.
Sun caressing her spine, she consciously exhales,
To test if the freshly thought hypothesis prevails—
That the denser the smoke, the sadder the heart.
She rapidly loses interest in the result.
Maybe an episode of absurdism struck her.
Maybe a counteracting thought made a flutter.

She rose in the valley of nothingness
A petal of hope she grew to be
She established her roots in the driest of places,
and forced the rainfall there to be
She grew slow but she grew strong
Correcting along the way all that was wrong
In her domain there is shelter too
Only if you be real and be the original you

It’s a cold November night. Thousands of stars swallow the dark cloudless sky, watching over an industrial building sitting in a lone dense forest. A factory of some sort, a place seen as “off-limits” to the residents living nearby.

Misery.
A disease.
A reminder.
A song constantly playing.
I push repeat as I see its melodies
running frantically across my mind.
Moving furniture within my groins.
A permanent stranger running its crooked feet
across my welcome mat.
I hear a knock.
Like a child screaming
for hands to hold,
I fetch the door.
It smiles the same grin,
my cheeks begin to burn.
We seem to greet each other
easily.
And as the sun continues to chase the moon,
and the sky blushes the perfect blue,

It appears I’ve met a stranger
who peers deeply into me as if we crossed paths before.
Star-crossed lovers promised to meet again.
His bronzed bristles gently sway across my cheeks.
Strokes of mahogany fill in the cracks
as I slowly become his.
A shade I had never seen before.
Color, I had never loved before.
He signs his signature across my frame
as if I were his and I kindly submit.
Strangely enticed by his gentle eyes and skillful hands.
Gravity pulls me to him
as we begin to melt.

A stranger’s eyes
dance with mine
as I’m handing him his cash.
But he and his ripped-back pocket
leave before we can exchange numbers.
Before ever getting to say “Hello”.
And like the arrival of time,
he comes as quickly as he goes.
My weary eyes follow him
as he exits through automatic doors
disappearing forever
leaving me behind with a curious heart.
And that’s how life is now.
My eyes dance with a worthy component
but never touching.
People making sure to stay
six feet apart from love,

Things started simple enough - I was going about my life as a veterinarian. I worked primarily with pets and strays, lots of cats, dogs, and illnesses. For whatever reason, there seemed to be a sudden increase in animals with worms, both in pets and in strays. I couldn't figure out what it could be. My team and I did everything we could, even going so far as to quarantine the afflicted animals.

Time stretched to an eternity. A minute felt like an hour and vice versa. God knew how long I had been sitting there, staring. Or maybe he didn't. There are things that even gods can’t tell.

My eyes must've been open for days, weeks. Staring.

But, no, that can't be right, it's only been a few seconds.

Time is fickle, it can stretch further than we can comprehend or become smaller than we know. To say that you can tell the time is white lie, made only for comfort.

I see Her everywhere. Through the window, under the ice, in the water. I can’t sleep because I see Her face staring back through the chilly glass panes of my bedroom window. I can feel Her watching me everywhere I go. She whispers in dozens of voices. She watches with hundreds of eyes. Sometimes I feel Her freezing fingertips brush across my skin.

I know that I must sound crazy, rambling on about being watched by a woman that no one else can see. But I need to tell someone, whenever I try to talk to other people, they seem to just stare through me…