In Progress

               “We put him in a bowl of warm water, so he could thaw out,” Fridge said sarcastically. Fridge moved his smartphone away from his right ear and winced. The chief was yelling at him; she didn’t share his sense of humor. “You found the missing chef; he has the victim’s blood on his hands, and he refuses to talk.” Chief Neptune barked. “What else do you want? This case is closed as far as I’m concerned.” Fridge rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Listen, chief. Some things aren’t adding up. Why would the chef kill the waiter in front of three potential witnesses? Wouldn’t he strike when he was alone with the waiter? And why would he lock himself in the freezer? Also, we still don’t have a motive.” Chief Neptune was silent for a moment. “Fridge, I see where you're coming from. But it’s out of my hands. Your other suspects have lawyered up; their attorneys will be there in half an hour.” Fridge sighed audibly. About an hour had...

Detective Fridge Jackson stared at the puddle of rain next to his sedan. The blue and red glow of the diner’s neon sign reflected onto the water’s surface. A part of him wished he were still in bed. As if lying still for another hour would get him to fall asleep. A part of him was excited to see the scene that awaited him. It was a part of him that he hated. A large boot scattered the water’s image and disrupted Fridge’s stream of consciousness. Fridge glanced at the boot’s owner. It belonged to a young, uniformed officer. He fidgeted with his flashlight and avoided eye contact. “They’re waiting for you inside, sir,” he said quickly.             “Poor guy must’ve picked the short straw,” Fridge thought.             Fridge patted the nervous officer on the shoulder and approached the main door. Quigley’s Diner stood in the corner of a small shopping plaza. It was a quaint, mom-an...

I rise at three fifty A.M., mouth taped to stop the red pill from leaving my head. Name brand, dark blue, aesthetically shaped to show the world the extent of my bread.  I plunge my face into the bowl of ice. I add lemon juice to increase the pain. To cleanse my soul and to control my vice. To strengthen my mettle —against the grain.   Can they see all my insecurities? I feel the heat of their stares through the screen. Cut off, I'll fade into obscurity. My life protected by a glossy sheen.   The millions are with me on their phones. —all eyes on me, yet I still feel alone. 

I can feel the indentations in the rock from where my hands have been before pushing into the surface.   The sun punishes me; sweat trickles down the bridge of my nose, dripping down into my shadow.   I used to crane my neck past the boulder to see how close I was to the peak. Now I keep my head down and stare into the abyss.   Time has lost its meaning. There is no yesterday, today, or tomorrow —just being.   I used to count each trek —have I surpassed a thousand, or am I still in double digits? Infinity treats all constants the same.   To give everything and get nothing back. To sow and not reap. Potential that never becomes kinetic. I reach the top, but I don’t feel anything. The boulder rolls back, and I watch gravity erase what I wrote.   Making my way back down, I spot a pebble sparkling in the sunlight. Was that always there?   My arm grazes the boulder’s flank, opening a small scra...