It was after 10:30 at night. I was surrounded by towers of nondescript apartment complexes over 20 stories high, though the middle courtyard was graced with beautiful trees hiding maze-like walkways ... [+]
While We're Yet Remembered
Deborah L. Davitt writes acclaimed poetry, short stories, and novels. For more about her work, please see www.edda-earth.com "While We're Yet Remembered" is in Short Circuit #10, Short Édition's quarterly review.
It was the splatter of liquid on my face that woke me. Shitty-quality beer, with a taste of loam. Awareness returned as it puddled beneath me, where the tree roots grew against my back. Feet on the ground above me. "Hey, Miles," Robby said. "It's Memorial Day, man, and . . ." A pause. "Brandy and the kids . . . They're okay. I thought you should know." I waited to feel something. Anything. Sorrow, pain, anger. They'd be better than this numbness. This emptiness. His feet shuffled. "I didn't think pouring a forty malt out for you was right, given how it was . . . shit." Harsh breathing. "Two to