House of Frank

by Kay Synclaire

words can become so difficult when your mouth dries up and a familiar tightness tugs in your chest.

Fatigue is slowly seizing my legs. If I stand for a moment longer, I may never move again.

I came here with one goal in mind, but instead I’m taking this room, taking this bed, taking Frank’s hospitality. Before he can go, I stop him.

It’s a picture of us.

“I cannot see. I have no sight. Turn this darkness into light.”

I step into the world where you once existed with an assurance that⁠—yes, you are gone, you are no longer here, but oh, how good life felt when you were. You once existed.

We both used the arts as a line that connected us in a way that reality could never.

“I’m a Music witch.

I want to become something beautiful.

it’s all science and a bit of magic.”

I’ve cheated Death once before. I thought I could do it a second time.

It’s strange how grief works.

we aren’t wholly unique creatures.

I spoke the truth, and the world didn’t end.