TheBurg

48 | theburg | 07.16 Losing in-a-sense bY AuStIN rICK " e one you love and the one who loves you are never, ever the same person." –Chuck palahniuk A waking, I check for the color of the walls, only to be met by the tragic realization that they weren't covered by those little glow-in-the-dark-stars my aunt put up for me when I was younger. Heaps of tears dimple the teal fabric of the mattress, its attenuated metal springs complacent, yet yearning to penetrate the silver duct tape imprisoning them. He's next to me, his pallid flesh escapes from the tattered bottom of a coffee-stained wife-beater. A dim computer screen burns onto his obesity, his thick- framed glasses reflecting my exposed rib cage and protruding collarbones. My breath feels like the first after a coma, tongue withered at the root. ese past three weeks have been stitched together by agony. But I'm starting to like the scent of the menthol cigarettes he brushes his teeth with. Ashes fall upon the frayed carpet. Smothered by his own skin, he coughs and wheezes, my feeble arm wraps around his porcine stomach in search of comfort, palpitating along with the excess of his shaking flesh. Clamping my wrist, he throws my arm off and steps into his decayed bedroom slippers, outing the cigarette upon the oak dresser. e contorted butt's ember cooks into the wood, then exhausts following the slam of the bedroom door. I used to stare at those stars when my aunt fell asleep and the house was still. I'd bite the filth beneath my uncut fingernails, scraping it onto my canines, letting it accumulate with the plaque of my crooked smile. e trick is to keep the fragment of the nail still between your lips, begin to slightly blow and let it flutter between them until it flies across the room. Some call this a habit. I call this a distraction, a remedy, my practice of foul hygiene would lead me to ponder thoughts for hours, reflecting, biting, chewing, ruminating over how each adventitious being lives a life as complex and vivid as my own, populated with their own ambitions, sorrows, routines, worries. A bestseller that continues to invisibly type itself around you, like Roman catacombs sprawling underground, with complex passageways to thousands of other lives that you'll never know exist. Where you may only appear once, as an extra kissing your beloved in the background of a scene, as a dirty look given at the supermarket, as an attraction far too real to speak to. As anything. ere's some purpose that others hold in my narrative. The key tumbles the lock, the bolt slides into the door. Paralyzed by my obscure thoughts, I lie here in a windowless room. Do you ever get that feeling like you're unique? As if all the shit in life you're experiencing has some valid reasoning, to mold you, to shape you? Bathing in this feeling of being wanted, of feeling needed, I feel exactly this. What about the sense of life flashing before your eyes? It seems I'm having just the opposite, thinking forward, to all the things I haven't accomplished, the places I intend to visit, the objectives and goals I always said I'll get around to. Most times I've pictured the thought alone, but not now. I'm photocopying all the things he and I can be inside my head, if only he could see inside my head. How it pleases. Like this avidity to be bruised by catastrophe, to lose everything in a flood, to survive a car crash. Anything that brings forth an entanglement to that rope we call life, to forge a knot, reinforcing, making that rope tighter, as if to show us there are two ends to it. As if I'm finally seeing the world for what it is, like how your eyes adjust to the darkness of a room. austin rick is a senior at Capital area school for the arts Charter school (C asa). to read the complete story, visit www.theburgnews.com. secrets bY gAbrIeLLe VINCeNt M elody was everything. Her name suited her well, her beauty comparable to that of a choir of a thousand seraphs harmonizing the most divine tune. I loved everything about her from her hair, which resembled obsidian in both color and shine, to her eyes, the color of fresh grass in the summer. I memorized her every feature and mannerism and had come to know them like the back of my hand. I was completely head over heels for this girl and the most interesting aspect of it all was that I hadn't even met her. Melody and I had been chatting for about a year and two months online. We met on a website that allowed you to video chat with people based on similar interests. She caught me by surprise. I was sure she would just click disconnect on me like most other conventionally attractive girls had, but she was different. She immediately greeted me and gave me the warmest smile. We talked for hours about our interests from music to literature to simple things like our favorite foods. Ever since we met that night, we've spoken nonstop. Between texting each other from dawn til dusk to losing precious sleep by Skyping at all hours of the night, she had become the center of my world. She knew everything about me. Well, almost everything. I heard the ting from the computer, signaling me that Melody was calling. I pressed answer, feeling my heart flutter when her face appeared on my screen. "Hey there, I have great news!" She practically yelled as soon as I answered the call. "What is it, Mel?" I smiled at her excitement. "I got a promotion at work, do you know what that means?" "Uh, that you're one step closer to taking over the company?" I chuckled. She made a face. I don't think she found my joke funny. "No, it means I can finally buy a plane ticket to come see you!" She grinned, her eyes visibly lighting up. My face felt hot. I smiled awkwardly and shifted the conversation to something else by cracking another periodically, eBurg highlights the work of student writers from Capital area school for the arts Charter school (Casa). in this issue, we feature four short stories. do you ever get that feeling like you're unique?

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