9

I had in my mind the image of a rusty, bent nail, without purpose or utility.

I had in my mind the image of a stretched and smoking plant, bent skywards at an unhealthy angle.

I had in my mind the image of a man who could teach me to name these things, and guide me to care. It was only fitting that I would find him on a rooftop, his hand tickling the cinder block edge, as slow drops of blood spun off into the air. I sat beside him and watched for awhile, watched as his left leg -- bent, misshapen --would twitch at very specific times. I think the twitching coincided with each fat drop of blood his heart forced out of his left eye socket and down his arm.

At times his good eye would stare at me, look me over, take me in, then push me aside. I said nothing. There was no hurry, with the sun just starting to go down. Soon there would be nothing to see, just the scent of him, and his voice if he spoke.