Title: Fish sandwich
Brandon closes the fridge door. “You’re about to eat a fish sandwich.”
How do you know that?
“I don’t. I just know that I had a fish sandwich.” He walks around the counter towards me. “I left the fish in the front of the fridge so it thaws before lunchtime. It’s still there. It’s the first thing you’ll see.”
I might pick something else.
“You can pick what you want.” He chuckles. I still don’t know what that means.
I smell the fish and sneer. I look up to Brandon. His face… that texture, beard and hair and eyes, dark shining eyes. I know the person and I don’t quite know the face.
Who is this person in front of me?
Brandon turns away, so I can see but I can’t see everything. “It’s not as bad as it looks, is it?”
Something makes me stay. He moves. I back away. He steps. So do I. Step. Back. Back. Bad. Bad. Get out of here. Now.
I’m close to the couch. Brandon turns towards me, not encouraging. “Sure. Run away, Tyler!” I turn. I turn forwards, away. I turn to the living room. Their couch. Safe. Get there. Safe.
Brandon pins me to the ground by the arm. “You know,” he leans into my face, “that’s why you’re here in the first place.”
He lets go.
I fall, through the carpet, the wood, the dirt, reaching back as far as I can for sunlight and one more breath. Breathe. In. out. In. out. In.out.in.out.in. Out.in. In. Out. outinoutinoutinoutinoutinoutininininin am I shaking? A plant. Or just a ghost. The apartment covered in sand—down—dirt— gravel—rocks—magma—water all washed away. That’s the box we’re in. And the old box stretches forever. I hear nothing, then a growling.
I’m on the floor. A few moments pass where I just don’t do anything. I see the ceiling, then Brandon helps me up. All okay. Just his face.
The hole I fell through is gone. Or at least I can’t find it in the kitchen. Brandon helps me sit at the table. I don't know where he goes.
I eat a fish sandwich.
The bedroom door is open. Brandon is in the bedroom. They have two bedrooms here.