Author: Kameko
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Undiscoverable In the Atlas of Love
Bez reads over my shoulder as I work on a story in progress. She is the only person who is allowed to do that. No one else can see a piece until it’s done. I like to present a finished work to the world, and not let them see the nails and tape and bits…
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Popcorn
Bez and Juteau have decided that we are to watch the entirety of my film collection, from The Abyss to Zombieland “We need a project,” Bez says. “Something to take our mind off men and things.” “Especially things,” Juteau says. “There’s hundreds of movies here,” I say. “This is a pretty big project.” “I’ve got…
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Unsinkable
We are watching Titanic, Bez, Juteau and I. Bez is making horrible fun of me for having put it on in the first place, but I freely admit to liking the film. Yes, it is melodramatic, yes, Billy Zane is wearing more eyeliner than Kate Winslet, but I don’t care. I love the costumes and…
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The Scent of Ghosts
I get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and find Juteau sleeping in the purple tub. Her hair is draped over the back of it, and it hangs in dark waves over the porcelain. She breathes softly and her eyelids twitch as I slip into the room, but she…
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The Best Anchor in an Unsettled Sea
I am in the back seat of Juteau’s car. I have the window cracked, and the smell of the ocean blows in and over me, as well as an occasional raindrop. The air very much wants to break out into a storm, but it can’t quite cross over the threshold of becoming a downpour. Juteau…
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Oops
My apologies to anyone who commented on my last post. Somehow in a half-daze I managed to delete them, although I’m not sure how I did it. I blame my mobile app. Sorry!
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Ill Dreams After Midnight
I wake from a dream, unsettled and shivering. In this dream, I am being persecuted and railed against by some sort of organization, something like those people who protest outside the funerals of soldiers. I am afraid to go into public, because they are always there, and I don’t stand too close to windows for…
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Juteau on the Move
Her name is Juteau, although I don’t know if it’s her first name or last. With a name like that, one would think that she was from France or Quebec or Indochina, although I’m not certain if anyone from Laos still speaks French. Not that it matters, really, since she was born in San Diego…
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Difficult, But Not Impossible
I see the scar on your arm, from a vaccination so many, many years ago, round and hollow, and I put my finger on it and press, as though it were a button. You hold me tighter, the both of us hidden from sight in the tall grass, and for the moment I forget where…
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The Emperor of the Alley
Who is this man, walking ahead of me down this small side street? He is wearing a very expensive-looking dark suit, and he is trim and walks as briskly as I do, so that I can’t catch up with him without breaking into a run, which I do not wish to do. He has a…