field rot.

Cathy drops to her knees in the grass, smoothing the skirts of her pinafore beneath her. She holds up the little tin soldier between two fingers like something precious.

"Because it's not just a game," she says. "You've to imagine things properly first."

Around her, treasures spill from the open box she has dragged from home: painted wooden horses, a porcelain doll with one cloudy glass eye, tiny china cups wrapped in newspaper so her mother does not notice they are missing.

She pushes the soldier toward him across the dirt.

"You can be the captain if you like. The real one died in India and now everybody thinks he's a ghost." Her voice lowers conspiratorially. "And these are his men who come back to find him."

She glances up at him, stubborn already, daring him to laugh.

it isn’t the laugh cathy was expecting, but it is an exclamation of sulky defiance. callum stands above her with his hands balled in his pockets, his foot worrying at a pebble among the grass. his gaze moves slowly, suspiciously, over the riches she’s brought for them to share. has he ever seen so many playthings in a heap, and all belonging to the same person? 

no. never. 

it’s wondrous, a little frightening, much like cathy herself. he knows that their hours together are a precious few. he also knows he would rather the neighborhood boys catch him playing soldier than house, even if the latter gives his heart a thrill he can’t quite articulate. with these facts in mind, he lowers himself slowly to the ground, keeping a carefully calculated distance. 

“dunno if i’ve ever imagined properly,” he admits, assuming it to be a skill on par with ballroom dancing (an activity that the dentist’s daughter is surely familiar with). “is it very hard?”

“aye. something’s been following me. another man’s name is a heavy thing to carry, mick. you should know — you’ve done it all this time, too.”

in callum’s stare lingers the intensity that his flat affect conceals. thus far he’s kept his distance, his back pressed against the door to michael’s office. now, though, he steps slowly forward until he’s poised at the center of the room. in his left hand he holds a manila envelope: wrinkled, grimy, even more so than the documents therein.

then an explosion of sound: the banker’s table scraping against the half-rotted floorboards and colliding with the wall in a crash. callum’s hand wrapping around michael’s jaw, willing the words back into his mouth. their chests are almost close enough to touch, callum’s heaving, michael’s still. 

“was me won the war, mickey. me! and all the other sorry bastards who were there in france, in belgium, in the fuckin’ desert, in flesh and blood! while you stayed back, cowerin' cunt, playin’ pretend. playin’ the fuckin’ sargaent of this — this —” 

he loses the words, and in his frustration, shoves michael roughly back. it surprises him that no one outside rushes to see what threat has befallen their dear leader. 

“dunno about that. suppose i spent enough time with the froggy fucks* i started missing the sound of me own voice.” garbled as it is, talking around his cigarette. 

once lit, he takes a first puff and then extends it to richard. 

“go on, then. and don’t look so flattered; i’ve still got the pack.”

the tar feels good. it wakes him up. politely, without thought, he blows his smoke away from callum—michael.

dialogue prompts from a beast slinks towards beijing: a novel by alice evelyn yang.

what month is it?

we were damned if we did, damned if we didn't.

what do you remember?

you look tired. are you in pain?

it's a 'three advil' kind of day.

you look familiar. do i know you?

something is definitely following you. whether you can see it or not is a different matter.

you look tired. not sleeping well? nightmares?

you're asking the wrong questions.

i'm not ready for that. i don't know if i'll ever be ready.

you cannot die. there are still things we need to say.

anything can be salvaged. nothing should be wasted.

some memories are untranslatable.

i don't know how to say it in words.

i wasn't going to go through with it.

breathe. it'll pass.

you could almost pass as human.

it was real. it was the realest moment of my life.

you haven't even said sorry.

i didn't ask to be the favorite. i'd give it to you, if i could.

you like winning more than anything.

what really happened? you can tell me.

does it hurt badly?

your unhappiness weighs on my soul.

it would have been better if i'd died. if i didn't exist.

you wear resentment like a second skin.

i don't know how much you remember.

no rest for the wicked, right?

do you want to sleep here?

why do you want to leave?

children, like animals, often have a preternatural sense for catastrophe.

i thought gods were supposed to be good.

we're like small toys to the gods.

you know how to spin a yarn.

i've never known someone with a dead ____ before.

you're everywhere, aren't you?

everyone's been listening to me talk about you for years.

i know when you're lying.

i don't like the way _____ talks about you.

i want to feel solid again.

you didn't try to find me.

you have a deceptively innocent face.

morality is a privilege we can't afford right now.

you hurt everything around you.

i don't want to be in the house any more than i have to be.

you haven't changed much. always taking care of everyone else.

you're not alright. you have a tell.

aren't you tired of it all?

all you're good for is running.

i've been looking for you for a long time.

i've never met someone like me before.

i'm what you made me.

the more you try to forget me, the more you become down to me.

do you think i was born cruel? i was made this way.

i wasn't built to be a caretaker.

am i awake? is it you?

why do you have to be a martyr?

i always hoped i'd heard from you.

why can't you just be honest?

i don't know how to live with this.

we've both done hard things to survive. that's human.

i can help you through it, if you let me.

i know more ghosts than living people.

i can't recognize you anymore.

you ruined me. i hate you.

i was afraid of how much i loved you.

reincarnate. become something else, something braver.