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I’d be content to hold his hand and just roam
I swear, that boy could make hell feel like home.

A slap to the face, a punch, a clout
Beating into submission; is that what power’s about?

The train rocked back and forth as she fished through her bag. That box was probably squished by now, but it was in there; she knew she’d packed it. She must have packed it. Oh what she wouldn’t give for a sandwich–

AH HA. There were those Nilla Wafers.

She pulled them out of the backpack and popped open the box, pulling out the shiny plastic bag. Now if she could just open them without waking her seatmate.

You’re a man of the spotlight, always cast for the lead
Toeing the line between ambition and greed
A girl on your arm; to accessorize, not love
Money the only thing you’ll ever be proud of.

Fell in love? More like tripped.

I was not the dreamy kind of girl. I was recovering from a too long dysfunctional relationship.

And then you catapulted me into liking you. Your smile. Your eyes. Your love of science fiction and classic rock.

I’m not exactly annoyed, but I am confused. How do I like you so much already?

The boss signed off on it. Extreme circumstances, and all that.

I shoved my hand in, deep, past the elastic skin, the fat layer, the thin and curving rib bones. I felt the heart in my palm, and squeezed.

And Jason Pike was no more.

There’s salt all over this soft shell of mine. Air gently flowing from the fans above. I scrub, I scrub. The tenderness of rubbing away the old and dead, and bringing forward fresh, pink skin. I feel like a raw little crab, thrown momentarily into the boiling pot. For that minute it is not torture, but a warm spa. Tender and soothing to my bones.

Manhattan, with its tall shivery buildings held in embraces of cold stone and silver glass, frozen in repose over the night sky and distant horizons. She loved Manhattan with its last two syllables tripping over each other on her tongue and the small personal cafes with their walls of warmth defrosting her face after a battle with the chill wind. She loved steadfast winter in Manhattan with streetlights shattering sparks over shiny stones embedded in the sidewalk asphalt, shining in rainbows against the stark black of the evening sky. She loved Manhattan in its death and its dark, and loved Manhattan all the more in its life and its light, accepting the city for what it was: a story cherished in the hearts of children, a dream crumpled at the bottom of a desolate, polluted river, a hope with wings spread against the shuttered landscape, a yearning desire to be free. Manhattan was all these things, and more.

She reached and grabbed and poured and shook and he watched. A drop of red juice trickling down her arm.