Negative Space

by B.R. Yeager

A gap opened up inside me. A piece that I had always assumed belonged to me but was actually a part of him all along. A secret between us, one that even I didn’t know about. He was beyond family. I couldn’t imagine another body, another choked heartbeat, or strange, slow smile filling that gap. No other arms could ever fully engulf me and choke out the rest of the Earth’s hurt. I started making plans to kill myself.

This was a milestone. A shift. A symbol that would mark each event that was to come.

There was nothing left in front of me anymore, so I pushed on to wherever. Branches shivered, raining down dandruff flurries. I could see Tyler in every dead white flake. Grass reeking of his oily skin and unwashed pits. Trees as brittle as his calcium starved bones. The streams and bogs filled with his piss and spit. His life in a landscape.