Fiction: Michael Kimball

A Free Tomorrow

I learned how to steal and it isn’t impossible to move after doing so. She can’t last as unredeemed family, but she’s always so good with me. To reach out and touch her good arm, this serious flow comes back so the bottom of the screen attacks. This morning, the medical personnel mislaid stretchers and had to carry the distinguished injured upright through the cloudy exposure. We hope some army officers confined the loose skin bacteria to the fallen bodies. If you keep too much all wrong, then some people hand-wave flags and make other falsified gestures. Could you see through the hindmost opening to the loose front and, if so, did they still have touching faces? We have a commandeered plan and it will be fully administered without any considered afterthought.

In any case, you can tunnel under the cloudy exposure and all the resplendent people will shine. Do you want to get up and gallop or fall down and fake sleep? We should have a hopeful meeting place and wait for the good times when we are together again. This is not a famous place, so there are no tourist attractions, but fancy people believe in the future attendance. You should be somewhere else after the next attack, so we can still find each other anywhere but here.

What we have is with us here and you can meet us there too. We can ladder the fire escape to the false roof and try to see the best way out with some distant binoculars and probably gas masks if you are inclined to neighboring protection. Did you buy a good card and bundle it to yourself? She pulls off one of my body layers and smiles her adjacent relief at what impediment she sees. It feels exultingly difficult for me in my rippled chest, but I am smushed in the front from the refreshing hugs so much so that my skinny ribs hurt, and I don’t want you to let me go. She fingers between my two ridges, but says she doesn’t think about the skin feeling. Are you afraid of preservation or what would happen if you don’t start the chemical wash? 

Consider saving us by putting your glorious hands out into the forgotten world. Did your thinning hair fall out after you crossed the drawbridge? Did you crawl through a place where the unsound tunnel should be and bleed out on your bendable knees? Once, after some quiet close to a daily change, we topped out above ground at the beach rock. I recognize the summer velocities, but the useful sand goes liquid beautiful and dries up. 

That man’s upper head carries through a terrible mess, and his previous face remains in the bloody dirt. Is it too expensive to buy an inflatable raft in this new economy or doesn’t floating transportation rate anymore? Maybe we have one fixed edge that lies on the conspicuous island and we float along the acclaimed coast or delete it again and live here. Listen to the dispensed fate of the elevated ship until all the perishable food has disintegrated. The abutting water rides out not salty and the entire security returns. It gives the impression of the possibility to stimulate further movement.

Can we please go now or can’t we ever start somewhere else if this continues? We can be different people, but it’s really just her and me anywhere. Sometimes, terrible things show up at the end of the known world, which should always be an accomplished night. Sometimes, a safe place materializes for her but almost never for me in my absorbing position. Somewhere, eminent people embark on their laments and she appears too thin to eat. Otherwise, we go step-by-step on the cracked streets and we expect frontal emergencies. They come to us upright and dawning, but it’s something out of the indulgent night. Is the entire city at the likely edge of our supply boat? Can we get away until we can’t see the bottom of the concocted ocean anymore? The place of residence raises an amazing concrete wall, but nothing hides behind it. Continuous emergency vehicles can’t save everybody and that isn’t just surface conjecture. 

All attendees forward knowledge of a great touch, but a rolling group of replicated people form at the front door. More burning people cast fire and medical personnel associate with them on the hidden sidewalk. Can you give me the full lean or is that too much terminated angle to survive? My applauded hands build the lower part of the skin package while she treated us along the brick walls. Go back to the august feeling of the subsequent moment and see where you are now. A different internal sense, in her informal opinion, should protect the remaining people.

We are the subsisting people on the other side of the brick wall and we live through prolonged fire. Can you tilt his mighty focus to make it better here? Here is something important: the pajama kids operate on everybody’s head and cut the hair tops off. Most contemporary people disperse in final anticipation of getting lopped off, but I bear her through this fundamental run until we disappear just around the realized apparatus. 

Escape, if you want to go, but we are still worn and bare and haunted close. We fly out before the prolonged fire and we follow to observe the fulfilling need. Do you know that almost all the immediate people you look for can catch you if you don’t move? Should we step into the liquid night for universal escape? She waves a dangling arm from the burning elderly, so don’t think of me as the secret guest. To escape the extended fire, I want to activate my own jump routes, but they arrest the jump people. Think of the safety net and the crane basket and see if that helps with what happens next. Can you see one of the two weapons in the stretched out trash cans? Wait, is that a fire mirage? What we see, the smoking fires until the next protracted day and then we are up at a bright gallop.

Why is this mislaid combat irrevocable? Why did they provide a fancy cheer when it happened? The home access and an adrift connection still need to be postponed. Most exaggerated people have to go back to the harbor fields. My fire eyes water so tired and look hardened with glasses. I am down on my last face these days. The strange light lets us know how late we pass around the spinning world and it looks like the ultimate people are still alive. I have my determined clothes and would like to receive more of them, but I can’t hold out my utmost arms anymore. I will take you anywhere else, but, after some bitter delay, the definitive movement does not help any of us. Do you use the super night when you try to shut down or do you wait until the national anthem plays? 

Eventually, everybody inclines to a full stop and what forms at the beginning of the harbor signal has no further significance for the next day, but a kindly sustenance eats her from the skinny insides. I take a provisional turn, a supported intimation, a spreading essence. She tires of bankrolling, but goes a little wild in the thinking hairs. Is this absolute maintenance or the lively reminder of an unfortunate ailment? 

I flavor her to wake her up, but nobody else waits for a free tomorrow. You can see the broken outline of the final adjustments, but somewhere you have to do something besides waiting for an unidentified signal. Does the secret accounting drive you back to you or me back to me? Between the brick walls, drag her a little closer for the warm safety, then see if her resplendent arms and excited legs spread out into another person. Her little clamp holds us together and the wrapped sheet does too, but certain indulgences seep through and can never be recovered.

Fiction: Heather Rounds

Parallel Realities: a reader’s response to D. Watkins’ The Cook Up: A Crack Rock Memoir

Parallel Realities: a reader’s response to D. Watkins’ The Cook Up: A Crack Rock Memoir

The Avenue