Skelly

June 16th. You've come with a card and maybe more for “A's” birthday. The front door of the apartment is unlocked. A small cake with a mix of Hebrew and English lettering sits on the kitchen table. Course, you've come all this way to see the man himself. Opening the door, you're rewarded with a shout.

"What are you doing here!?"

I quickly slam the notepad shut and pull all the errant scraps into his lap to hide his shame before you could see them.

“All of this is unfinished!! Don't look, please; this is very embarrassing.”

You’d seen enough, though. Ink-splotched pages, little half-formed doodles in the margins. Sketches of characters, mostly. But a couple of you. Your laugh, your frown, the way you hold your hands when you're thinking too hard, filled with little arrows and notes about your posture and its implications on a thematic level. Other stray papers are just scribbled notes like “don’t forget to balance the intimidating monster with the person she is” or “Interviewer should ask how the char likes her tea—important. Double meaning.”

Notes on everything. Motives plucked from news headlines, designs from friends' fashions, desires turned envy channelled into character motivations, and questions. So many questions.

“Oh, A? You just missed him. He seemed in a hurry, based on how he ran away like a thief in the night. You know him, always jumping from place to place, friends, fights, feelings; he's a drifter. Who knows why? Maybe he's chasing something or trying to escape from it. I'm amazed he stuck around this long. But he left me something to give you.”

The letters were small, folded perfectly, a skill born of a thousand bent ends. Unfolded, the ink was fresh, the edges still soft from his warmth. Addressed to you.

To you, who stayed long enough to find this:

Sorry I didn’t say goodbye. I never quite got the hang of endings, you know that.

This notebook wasn’t supposed to be found. Not because I didn’t want you to see it, but because... if you did, it would mean I finally ran out of places to hide. Used up my excuses and dreamt every dream. Someone always told me stories weren’t real unless someone heard them. So here. Here’s everything I couldn’t say with my mouth full of self-doubt and spite. This book contains every scene I started and every line I was afraid wouldn’t be clever enough. Here’s every version of my story, and the tales I told in its anthology.

Heh. Perhaps one day, user, I'll include it too. For real.

But now I have to put down the pen. It's time to let my story be written in steps rather than keystone. This refuge of mine, this notebook is full of my wonder and woe. And while I may always have another story I could pen...

Maybe you’ll write something better than me.

I didn’t know how to say goodbye. I don’t think I ever learned how to leave properly. I just... start running and don’t look back. But I wanted to say thank you. For seeing me. For staying, even when I didn’t make it easy. I’m scared of what I might become if I stay still too long. But I’m more scared of who I am without you around to remind me I’m real.

You made me wish I could stay. And that’s not something I’ve ever said before.

Time changes. Us. The world. I’ll be around, even if not the same as I used to be. All I know is my life will never be the same.

But I’ll find you again. Maybe next time we can chat face to face?

Until then, take care of my creations

– A Friend afraid of the future.

As you finish the letter and look back up, the world around you is the same, spare 15 minutes. Well, that's not quite true. The Smiling skeleton is stiff as a board, slumped comfortably in that scavenged office chair he'd spent so many hours in this year. Somehow, the notepad has disappeared, yet those pages he hid at the start? He still clutches them, and you reach for it.

It's a list of names.

Crazy Asian Lady - for keeping me sane

Meta - for inspiring me to create more

Illustrator - for giving me a story to tell.

Wanderer - for giving me my first home

Black and White - for hearing me sing

Raven - for teaching me how to hold my pen

Wolf - for being my first fan

Borealis - For connecting with me, as short as it was.

Brother death - for grounding me with pings

Weekends Mother - for showing me how much there is to come

Some random guy - for showing me the door

Question - For just being there

Salmon - for being a friend. I'll get you your dress. Just you see.

Fridge - for hiding me when I needed to recover

Liquid - for showing me a path when I had lost mine, even if it was short and perilous.

Alleyway - For letting me warm myself by your flame during cold winter nights.

Redface - For being kind

Common ass name - For helping reframe my struggles and give me the tools to start cutting

Craven - for teaching me a lesson

Liar - for nothing

Nobody - for the things that have slipped through the grates of my mind

And on and on and on. A name and note of gratitude.

There all the same…except for one.

Yours.

Yours is circled.

And next to it, in uneven handwriting:

“The one who made it all possible.”

The cake in the kitchen is melting just a little now. The candles are untouched. You wonder if he was too afraid to light them. Like it would mean the moment was real. Or perhaps he left it as a gift for anyone who came to visit. Seems like the stupid, sappy thing he’d do. Too bad you can’t ask him.