Margot spoke with a vexed inflection. The air remained static. Two words. Quiet. An august angst. Eli stared back into the vacancy of space. The portrait had been filled once with a dire want, an impressing culture of immediacy. It was the legion hungry ghosts--all friends once, all united by death, all shaking cold corpses inside—they were the most alive. The grotesques flaunt an uncivil sharing of misery in shameful waltzes in shameful discourse. It’s the shame that runs wintry, upsetting the skies, upsetting the face. They swallow the dark then throw it back up on the floor. A kind of influenza. It’s a flu but they mean the spreading of shallow living--the façade you subscribe to margot says. I suppose conjoining was the mistake. Yes now that I think of it, that was it—it must have been. We killed our selves. We kid ourselves too. Convinced there was a future in the fucking. There is but only for those who go through hell to get here—because they could debase themselves, because they could gag themselves and bite the bullet. Candid confessions of an immortal beloved: there is no fucking future. They say. Because self-loathing is the paradox. Selfish holes. Hungry ghosts. Whisper conceit. Indeed the jealous lungs endure through larceny and all things base. Divorced from the normalcy heaven provides. Indeed. Indeed. They speak with tongues of French in English, of Russian proverbs, of self-deprecation of an altruistic death. I get it now. Okay, I get it now. Its because of the spiders and lemmings I became king. I get it now, okay.

Okay, oh well.

Margot wore a look disappointment, of regret, of denigration.

But I get it now. I would say. She said it too. We shared only our time then. Now I see we shared more. I do not exist, she does not either. It’s the same but the façade is different now. Maybe it is inflection now. The air isn't static like it used to be. Two words. Quiet comfort. I wrote that. Because I finally gave up everything. she did too. Because with nothing you want the world. Because with nothing you have everything. she did too. Because they are exactly the same. I learned that once from life. from sanctity. From heaven.

“Margot, I got you something today” said Newt revealing a supine palm cradling a pink rounded package the size of a soft ball. Margot looked up from reading the newspaper.
“Its not for me is it?”she said.
“I don’t know, maybe it was. You seem to be an extended being these days.” Newt retorted.
“yeah, cause I am a demigoddess or something right? She said.

She said that.

She said,

Laudable laughter conformed to the silence. It folded in between the air. Quiet. There was no exchange then, just the movement of a hand. Mouths formed speechless words there was no oxygen. Larceny. Lungs. Life.

Its almost criminal

I am sick with influenza. I was too.