1. Structure - J.F. Hire

 Gotta Go Fast

I was sitting on the log, just like we always do after a long day of running. My eyes would find themselves affixed on a nearby bush or tree where some wildlife rustled, as if awaiting a Chickadee to emerge. Moments later, my eyes are floating aimlessly along the soggy, loamy ground. There was something underneath my hand moving, probably a slug, having found his home on the log with me. The log: two feet in diameter, four feet long, and two feet on the ground instead of four. These Merrick running shoes had seen better days. New, they weren't rigid, but held my feet. Today, a flex of any tendon would cause a ripple along the man-made uppers. I wasn't lifting my hand up from the slug beneath it, but a minute amount of pressure was being applied. Though he was afraid, stifled by the presence above, he moved every once in a while. I wasn't alone.

*******

"I'm not asking you to stay, I just... I need to know you want to."

You were asking in such a cryptic way. I couldn't tell what you wanted. I was still gripping your pony-tail in my hand, having just severed it from the straggling copper tendrils. 

"I know you can't stay," you say, "and I don't expect you to. But I want you to want to stay. Do you know what I mean?" 

Still silent, all I can manage to do is comb your bluntly-cut hair down some, as if trying to repair damage to a Barbie's hair-plugs, snipping here and there. It wasn't long before I was reaching for the clippers, allowing them to rattle to lively, groaning metal. 

"I'll just shut up. I'm being greedy and weird. I'll just drop it."

I shaved your head, you left afterwards with a terse goodbye, forgetting your shoes.

*******

The coffee was so bitter. Sip after sip, I would grimace and set the Waffle House cup back down. Too distracted by the acidity, I found myself stuck on 5 down, intersected by 18 across. Salt slid from one end of the bar to mine.

"Check it. It cuts through."

For a moment, I was attempting to make eye contact with you past the four other customers. Back and forth, behind and forward. I could only make out your mass of ginger hair, high-lighted in places, with a rat-tail sticking from the bottom, braided as if you were a Padwan. 

The salt worked. I tried it later that day while writing for my creative writing course. I put too much.

******

"We're friends, right? You trust me? Just do this one thing for me, okay?"

You had a hold of the steering wheel, gently, but intent on utilizing it from the passenger's seat. I was already breaking when you slowly took control. 'Don't crash, don't crash, don't die, don't panic' went through my head. The parking lot was darker than it should have been, this car wasn't mine, and you didn't see the cops either. I think that you ran into the cruiser intentionally.

"SHIT, KENZI--!"

"I know! 'RUN'!"

******

"Fine, I'll stay here while you sleep. Just don't blame me for the bugs under your skin. I told you that it was a bad idea. I said it. You never hear me."

You didn't respond, just laying there like you had for the past week. I could tell from your expression that you knew I was right. Your eyes seemed to ask me to 'back off' today, the way that the gnats were weighing down the lids.

"You'll sleep in the car one of these days, that's why I'm not covered in bugs."

I finally backed off, and sat on the log where we would meet after a long day of running. I was sitting, my legs were in the 'run' position, bouncing up and down on the balls of my feet.

"Eat something. There are four protein bars next to you."

Anxiety was getting the best of me. I didn't know what was wrong. We were safe, no one would find us with the car by this ditch in the middle of no where.

"Shit."

A cicada landed on the arm you were bending behind yourself. You lay so still, your lower-half gone.

You were dead. You would never let a cicada near you.