For my secret Santa
You’d think I’d be over it? After all this time, I haven’t really thought about it all that much. It was quite easy actually, I removed all the things that made me think of …her. I burned my bed, threw out every single mirror and slept on the floor for a few years or a few days. I bought a new bed after a while, of course. Rerouted my travel to not pass the antique store, stopped dining out and stayed far far away from the edge of town and any spire that may happen thé be there. But no, I’m thinking about her and it’s not even a special day, just another Thursday(in the literal sense, because Friday is sick of being a stepping stool to the weekend, “why is it always ‘it’s Friday, tomorrow’s the weekend!’ And never ‘it’s Friday! Can I just take a moment to tell everyone that I love this day, and don’t care for any pesky other days that come after, I don’t even remember what comes after’” Friday hisses to Thursday “ I’m just so sick” Friday complains, Thursday decides to take Fridays shift until you people learn to treat Friday with the respect they deserve) . There I am, watching the scorpions play, the new strategy is not doing them justice, Latrice might want to rethink the strategy of surprise. Then suddenly, the players are blurry, not the kind of blurry you get when the sheriff secret police messes up the brain tracker, but fuzzy like water over the eyes, because that’s exactly what was happening. I didn’t see how the match ended, I didn't even think about it as I ran past the antique store and back to my house. The faceless old woman was clearly in the middle of something because there was half a circle of dead rats, each head touching the other's tail. I walked straight past it and into the bathroom. I was over it, I must be. ‘But you still can’t look in the mirror’ à voice said to me, it was unclear if it was my own thoughts or the faceless old women. I ripped the cloth from my bathroom mirror. I looked like a mess, my beard once evenly buzzed now sat uneven on my skin, my eyes were red and tears were falling freely. No second me, no Francis. I wipe my face. There is so much more to me than her. I daughter off strexcorp by showing them my tongue, I used to coach the scorpions for goodness sake. I take a deep breath and cover the mirror. This is not the time, I can panic later. “When is later? I’m worried for yo-” I walk past where I assume the faceless old woman is continuing her “art” project and back outside. Just jog it off. And so I did, ran for hours along the side of route 800, I Indy turned around when I saw this strange place called “king city” and a very recognisable man with a tanned jacket and a deerskin suitcase.








