The shrubbery sprinkled ashes. The dog running at my feet. Such a good kid. Don’t ever let him die. Don’t let him sink into that safe and send off a trumpet’s brigade to really get that heart beating. Open up some valves in the organs. The influence now standing at the foot of the bed. Almost close enough to whisper. The chief dead, his resistance against the darkness broken. Regret trembling in the sheets. My wife wrapped around my leg. The precious treasure making her host of the most horrific. Knowing the totems of death when I see them. Keeping them in the basement. A trial of pension’s passing.

Really it’s me. I’m here. This is my old bedroom. A version of myself recorded into these walls. Reality shifting. Growth of the soil. Time does its work. Gets things knocking in the vents. Sends someone walking late at night upstairs in the dark. All sorts of creeks. Creeps if you ask me. Someone hiding in the closet. Grady. Electric code lighting up the next scene. Just think about it. Sleep and you might have it. Awaken and it’s yours. You’ve seen what this place has done to people. Something like The Last Days. Olive Garden. I haven’t quite opened my eyes to it yet. The baby there with me but very discombobulated. It cries all the time. My grandma leaving. Moments missing out. Chief after chief, pulling us closer to the front.  


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