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June 4, 2020 Fiction

Holoceners

Kyle Kirshbom

Holoceners photo

1. 

Driving east on I-94 from 8:41 to 8:55 I saw brief glimpses of beauty.

2.

The UFO glow from the high-mast lights floated in the nautical blue twilight.

3.

‘Holocene’ hovered through the speakers over the compressed snow-tire’s tread.

4.

Kyle and Colin—relapsed Wisconsin Children’s Hospital patients—floated through the snow-frosted forest.

5.

They hollored over howlers and corrupted cricket sex; chucking weighty snowballs at each other’s winter coats.

6.

Colin’s backpack: three spray cans, two decks of Magic: The Gathering cards, a filled weekly pill case, and a lighter.

7.

Through rain-stained windows I saw a diner on the right covered in snow with a neon sign that looked like RES   RANT in bold violet.

8.

A ferris wheel to the left spiraled in an empty park.

9.

In the hospital the boys would compare the size of their portacath scars.

10.

I saw a jack rabbit in mid-air disappear in the snow.

11.

Around endless trees Kyle walked to a stump, grabbed the lighter and spray can, spray-painted a golden spiral, and lit a fire that whirlled into shape.

12.

The fire grew, and Colin took off, but he suddenly stopped, seized, and convulsed to the ground under the spiral fire’s spotlight.

13.

He blew a puff of weak smoke, while his left cheek gradually greeted graupel as blood poured out his mouth.

14.

 Frozen, Kyle stood in a deep snow grave, and said No, not him, not now.

15.

At 8:56 I drove into a snow-plowed ditch, feeling not quite nauseous, not quite stable, standing on a snowdrift gazing across the burning forest, inhaling sharp dust.

 

image: Vija Celmins


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