Joe sat downstairs, in the family room, using his laptop to roam the internet, thinking about which was a better song, “Sympathy for the Devil” or “Question.”  It seemed like good enough a thing to think about.
 
Amy came down the stairs, didn’t look at him, sat at the PC, said, “I want you to hear this song.  A guy at work turned me onto it.  I can’t get it out of my head.”
 
“Okay,” Joe replied.
 
Amy played it.  A man sang in a distorted voice.  It wasn’t a bad tune, kind of bluesy.  The lyrics were very hard to decipher, and Joe was surprised Amy liked it.
 
Amy tried to force a casual expression.  “It’s called ‘Grounds for Divorce.’”
 
That helped make sense of everything.  Had the cycle shifted?  He thought it probably had.
 
#
 
Joe woke up late the next day and trudged down the hall, thinking of which was a better song, “The Pot,” or “Falling Away.”  It seemed like good enough a thing to think about.  He saw his daughters on the living room couch.  They wore frowns like weights. 
 
“Mom’s in a bad mood,” said Randi, the younger, but bolder one. 
 
Joe sighed.  “Where is she?”
 
“Downstairs.”
 
Joe aimed himself toward the steps, but on the way, looked by the backdoor.  Nothing was there yet.
 
He found Amy at the PC, talking into her cell phone.  She looked at him with utter disappointment and said, “Gotta go.  I’ll call you later, and we can all hang out.”
 
She looked away from him, placed the phone on the desk and swiped at the monitor screen.  “There’s so much dust.  It’s no wonder I’m always coughing.”
 
Joe sat.  “Going out with friends tonight?”
 
“Oh yeah,” she said in a voice thick with spite. 
 
“People from work?”
 
“Yup.  I got to get out of here.”
 
Joe nodded, though she wasn’t looking at him.  He just sat there for a while, thinking if there was something he could say, something that would get him out of what he had to do, but knowing there probably wasn’t. 
 
Amy smirked. 
 
Joe said nothing, refusing to take the bait. 
 
After a few seconds, Amy giggled. 
 
He gave in, just as he always did. “What?”
 
“Oh, I was just thinking about a couple of things people told me at work.  Kendra said if my hair gets any brighter, I’ll be cuter than Britney Spears.  Chuck said my butt look so good he could eat off it.”
 
Joe fought back a sigh.  “Getting a lot of complements?”
 
“Oh yeah, a ton.  Some for my work and some for my appearance.”
 
“Good.  You deserve it in both regards.”
 
Amy was silent for a while.  He didn’t think she knew how to handle his comment.  She finally said, “How are Randi’s grades?”
 
“Down,” Joe responded.  “But acceptable.”
 
Amy sighed.  “I don’t know why I ask.  I don’t want to think about that.  Nor do I want to think about how filthy this house is.  I just want to think about going out tonight.”
 
Joe thought of telling her about how he’d done five loads of laundry, dusted and vacuumed all of the floors within the last two days.  He knew it would do no good.  He stood, then crept upstairs.  The shadow waited at the back door. 
 
Joe nodded, and it, having human form, nodded back. 
 
“How long?” Joe whispered.
 
It raised two fingers.
 
“Weeks?”
 
It shook its head.
 
“Months?”
 
It nodded.
 
Joe cringed.  That was too long to bear.  He had to stop her.  He held out his arm.  The shadow ran a hand over it.  All of the scars came into view.  The shadow brought down its head and took a big chunk of flesh.
 
Joe managed not to scream outward, but screamed inside.  The shadow moved its hand over his appendage, and the damage was no longer visible.  He just felt it.
 
The shadow went out the back door.
 
“Everything okay now?” said Randi from behind him.  She had never said as much, but he suspected she could see the entity too.
 
“Yes,” Joe responded.  “Fine.”
 
He went downstairs, found Amy crying. 
 
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
 
“Chuck just sent me a mean instant message.” Amy got up and ran into his arms.  “I just want to stay here tonight.  You guys will be nice to me.”
 
“Of course we will,” Joe responded, feeling her press against the newest invisible wound.
 
He thought of which he liked better, “Life Wasted,” or “Heart Shaped Box.”

__________________

©2010 Lori Titus

Joshua Scribner is the author of the novels Mantis Nights, The Coma Lights and Nescata.  His fiction won both second and fifth place in the 2008 Whispering Spirits Flash Fiction contest.  Up to date information on his work can be found at joshuascribner.com.  Joshua currently lives in Michigan with his wife and two daughters.

I don’t know why we have to have the same argument over and over.  I said I was sorry.  Why can’t we just move on?
 
And let me just add that it took both of us to get to this point. 
 
And again, I know what you’re going to say, that I had become cold and distant, that you still loved me, but you needed passion in your life, that you tried to tell me this, but I wouldn’t listen.
 
But the thing is, I did listen, and I did respond.  I just didn’t respond how you wanted.  I told you it was a rough time for me, that things would get better, to just be patient.  And I know that I was screaming when I said this, but that’s just because I needed passion in my life too. 
 
You became distant at that point, and I’ll say it for the thousandth time, my reaction, or more accurately, my non-reaction, wasn’t because I didn’t care.  On the freaking contrary, I didn’t react because I do love you and I understood what you were going through. I was just trying to give you space, not push you away, because I understand what it’s like to need space and to get pressured instead.
 
Now, hold on, don’t speak just yet.  I know it sounds like I’m putting it all on you, but I’m not.  I just wish you would see my side of the story, because I know that once we develop perspective, things look a lot different.
 
Go ahead and wipe that smirk off your face.  I know you’re mocking me in your head, and it’s because I had the ultimate opportunity to develop perspective, that I got to see the happy and the stuck and which category I fell into. 
 
But here’s the kicker, baby. You’re right beside me in this one, so mocking me is mocking yourself.
 
Hah!  Smirk’s gone and scowl has arrived.
 
No! No! No! Wait!  I’m sorry.  I’m becoming petty, and that’s not what I want to do right now.  As I said, I just want you to see my side.  I want you to understand how much it hurt to see you with that other man.
 
I know we were separated at the time.  I know I was with another woman.  That doesn’t mean that I didn’t love you.  I was just playing games.  I know that was stupid now.  But you were playing games too.  When I confronted you, you tried to pretend that you didn’t love me anymore.  You tried to pretend that you wouldn’t come back to me.
 
No.  Don’t interrupt.  I know what you’ve said.  I remember what you’ve told me since, that you really didn’t love me, that you really wouldn’t have come back, but I know you.  You’re stubborn.  You’d never admit that you were lying. 
 
But, you see, the proof is in the pudding. You’re by my side now. 
 
And I know that I restrained you.  I know I tied you to the bedpost.  I know I shouldn’t have done that, but you have to understand how desperate I felt.  I wanted you to stay, because I love you so much. And it seemed like you weren’t even listening.  The way you were shouting and trying to pull from my grip, it was like you were really going to leave.
 
Damn it!  And there you go again, trying to move away from me now.  Go ahead.  It’s not like I can tie you up again.
 
No.  Wait.  I’m sorry.  I wouldn’t tie you up even if I could.  I don’t even think I need to.  I think that’s why we’re together now.  It’s because we’re soul mates. The universe has glued us together.
 
And I know what you’re going to say to that.  I know we’ve met others like us roaming around, and I know they all had one thing in common, that it was the passion that made them stay.  And I know passion isn’t the word you choose.  I know you like to call it violence.
 
Call it what you want, but we have to stop playing games.  We have to accept that we love each other and were meant to be together.  We have to accept that we were both at fault for me shooting you and then shooting myself. 
 
Damn it! Come back here.

__________________

©2010 Joshua Scribner

Joshua Scribner is the author of the novels Mantis Nights, The Coma Lights and Nescata.  His fiction won both second and fifth place in the 2008 Whispering Spirits Flash Fiction contest.  Up to date information on his work can be found at joshuascribner.com.  Joshua currently lives in Michigan with his wife and two daughters.

Also, you can read Joshua’s interview with Flashes in the Dark here:

http://flashesinthedark.com/2010/01/24/sunday-special-joshua-scribner/