I was born, and then eventually, I died. Wait, that’s not right.

I was born, some stuff happened, and then I died. Okay, we are rolling now.

What kind of stuff?

I have no idea.

But it sure was great.

The world was covered in lavender and I saw only you. You were all I needed to see. I did not love you then. I do not love you now. You sustained me.

No, that’s not right either. You did more than that. You were not just my reason for survival you were my survival. Survival and salvation.

So there was a gun. I didn’t know what it was for. You did. You whispered it in my ear like a sweet little pixie.

A pixie built out of bile, blood, and brain tissue.

Do you even feel bad?

We sat in that autumn grass letting the leaves flutter unto us. We made leaf angels. Do you remember?

The edges bit us and scratched at our exposed skin, but we didn’t care. No, actually I did care. I didn’t want to be on the ground. It was cold, and the dry leaves really did hurt, but you insisted.

I woke up the next morning with a rash. Where were you then? We went to sleep together, but in the morning you are always gone. Where do you go?

I ate breakfast. I wasn’t alone. I was happy. You were gone. I knew you’d be back. Night came and I was alone. You were there. You know. You made me pick up the gun. You made me kill us. Are you sorry? Can a voice even feel?