Keep going she urges, with the wind now attacking my eyes. My outstretched arm shakes under the struggle to pull myself forward another step. My last finger slips off my hand, the wind jumping at the chance to throw my body back. I find my face now firmly planted into the sand, dragging across my skin while I’m pushed farther back. My hands fruitlessly search to find grip in the sand. 

Keep going, she urges again. “I’m all out of fingers.” I pout as if I’m a child. I lift my head, battling the tremors that imprison my limbs. I feel the muscles in my neck protrude in order to keep my chin above the ground. Try as I might I can’t act stoic any longer, the prickling of tears at the edges of my eyes egg me on. “I’ve never even felt the touch of a woman!” I cry, the ghosts of my fingers curling into fists. “You couldn’t at least give me that?!”

Keep going!  “I hate this place!” Sobs violently rattle my frame. “I hate this place!” I repeat, begging her to hear me. 

Keep going! Keep going! She shouts in unison with my continued screams, creating a chorus of conflicting chants.
 

“I hate this-” my last scream is cut off with another sob when I yet again realize she can hear me clear as day. 

The tears work to clean the sand from my eyes, and I regret not indulging them sooner. Get. Up. Keep going! “I wish you would put those whispers away-” My voice breaks on the last word, sniffles crawling up my nose. 

The tension in my neck gives out rewarding me with a mouthful of sand. “Why? Why? Why? Why?” The sand that is glued to my cheeks with tears, now tumbles from the stretch of my mouth. “What do you want from me?” Years ago my blubbering would have devastated my arrogant makeup, but now I’m beyond the point of caring. It didn’t matter anymore.

Keep going! She answers predictably. 

“I can’t!” 

Keep going! She doesn’t believe me. 

“I can’t! I can’t do it anymore!”

She’s silent for a blissful ten minutes. The wind makes my body feel like static as I feel the fight seeping from my skin. 

By the time I hear her again my face has returned to the sand, denting my cheeks with an array of tiny holes. Get up. I’m not sure I could answer her even if I tried. You have to get up. It’s comforting to hear her so desperate in a way I have never before. You have to keep going. I huff in what’s almost amusement, blowing sand up my nose.

You don’t get to give up. Get. Up. her tone sours on the word ‘you’. I need you to get up. 

Sinking my forehead deeper into the ground, a slow breath slips through my lips. I don’t think I can get up. I don’t think I should anymore. I don’t want to keep going. Not anymore.

I don’t think my voice can be deciphered through the sand that has gathered in my mouth, despite that, with a sense of finality I tell her, “I give up.” 

I don't travel to Arizona anymore, it was much too hot for me there. I remember traveling there as a child during my summers off from school. It would reach over one hundred degrees fahrenheit. The sun felt like it was always shining, it beat down on my skin violently like I was in a fist fight with the sun, and losing. When it got that hot I would go into the house, the air conditioner would be on almost all the time so it didn't take long for me to cool down. The air smelled fresher inside the house than outside, and I felt much safer in there. In the house I would sit down on the sofa, the television was always on. It was unfortunate that I would have to sit on the opposite cushion than I was used to, it was tough and lacked the sinking feeling of the other cushion. The 🤬 indent that I was so used to wasn't present, but I suppose it was worth it for the comfort of the guest was it not? My grandparents would always make fun of me for sitting on the same cushion every day, they obviously didn't understand how to properly treat a guest. 

I looked back to the sofa that I was sitting on in my apartment. I had spent so much time reminiscing about the past, that it was almost time for bed. There was no bed in my apartment, so I slept on the couch. That was okay for me, because the couch was much more comfortable than a bed could ever be. The sofa was soft, and allowed me to sink into it with ease. The 🤬 indent on my favorite cushion made it easy to find the perfect resting spot every night. I arose from the tough cushion to and grabbed my nightly medicine. The pill bottle shaked fairly loudly when I picked it up, because I had just refilled it the day prior, but luckily it didn't wake the boa constrictor. I took my pill, and waited for a brief period of time before returning to the couch and sitting on my favorite cushion. I sat in the 🤬 indent, and all faded to black as I rested for the night.

The solemnity commenced by the pattering rain and wind gusts slicing through the night air matched the inclement weather of his mood. Despite bowing his head as a funeral celebrant would to shield himself from such an unpleasantry, raindrops beaded his eyelashes like tears and slicked back his hair like tar oil. It seemed that he was trudging through a sea of this same tar oil, his legs combatting an invisible force that stubbornly resisted his efforts to reach the safety haven of his car. 

One of thirty-year-old Nurse Phil Filbrandt’s patients had died what felt like just moments before he promptly clocked out at the strike of 5:00pm. At 12:03pm on that otherwise unextraordinary Tuesday, Phil’s very first patient to ever die had done just that. 

Phil couldn’t recall the patient’s name. He didn’t bother to muddle over this seemingly insignificant detail for more than a moment. It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter; this patient wouldn’t be the first, nor the last.

From what the doctors and other nurses and other professional non-detectives could draw from an ominous disarray of clues found in the patient’s coat pockets, car, and conveniently passcode-free phone, they pieced together that the man had been the victim of a spontaneous heart attack. Otherwise, he’d been in perfectly good condition and incredibly healthy. Everyone in the hospital wanted to know specifically “Why?”. Why a heart attack? Why in his car? Why such a healthy, run-of-the-mill, fairly young man? Phil had briefly wondered who this unlucky stranger was, but again, that was merely a passing thought that didn’t stick. He didn’t dwell on it for more than a second.

Phil couldn’t even recall the patient’s face; it’d been obscured by the heat and adrenaline of the moment. Why couldn’t he remember? He shuddered, feeling peculiarly faint.

He finally reached his driver side door, thank god, and fell into the seat with a great heave, carelessly casting his bags into the neighboring passenger seat. Every motion and move he made felt robotic and premeditated, which calmed him as much as it unnerved him. With a great huff, Phil shoved his key into the ignition and turned it.

Only then did he happen to glance up at the rearview mirror, and the sight he beheld made him choke and swallow his own heart as he convulsed.

All i can think about is telling you everything immediately after it happened

And facetiming you because i missed you 

I missed you then and i miss you now 

I miss how lighter and easier friendship was 

And i missed the way we could laugh about something so dumb for 2 hours straight

I miss when you cared because honestly ever since our friendship ended 

You haven't given me a second thought

My thoughts immediately relate back to you

And all the times we spent together 

But yours consists of new friends that you’ve replaced me with 

I wish i could replace you too 

But there's no way to replace the hours we spent together 

And the times you’ve seen me sob over the boys who shattered my heart

When you sat there and told me I never deserved it

I never thought the next person would be you.