#sr threads.

the plant was heavy in his arms, spilling soil onto his shirt and shoes. he was used to it, cultivating a small forest in his house, or rather, his mother’s house. it had all been abandoned when he left, but that didn’t stop him from gathering more now that he had roots himself in irving. he set the plant down and pulled the key from his apartment, swinging the door open and gesturing for abel to go in first. picking his own plant back up and kicking the door closed behind him, he pointed at a corner, other pots already stacking up over there. “you can put it there. thanks for helping me carry it up.” turning away from abel, samson began rearranging his plants. “you can have one. everyone needs plants in the house. good for the mind and good for the soul. good for thinking.” something about plants had always calmed him, grounded him to exist on the same level as those around him. it was certainly the most normal conversation he’d had with abel.

it had been weeks since they’d last seen each other. to the untrained eye, it might have seemed like they had been avoiding her. rather, if asked, they would say they’d seen each other last weekend. samson had their routine down in small ways. getting up at 6 am for work three days a week. eating dinner at 6:30 pm exactly if they weren’t working. going to the grocery store every tuesday after their monday shift ended. despite the habits, they never marked the weeks that went by. things simply were, and it being the first week of april versus the third week of november had no bearing on them. their legs hung over the edge of the pier as they brought the cigarette to their lips. long inhale. long exhale. a moment of silence, handing it over to flick. “the ocean at night is a portal to the underworld. could even be the river styx itself. don’t you smell the sharp scent of death in the air right now?”

“you shouldn’t have chickens at all. they will never be happy as they are cooped on some kind of farm or commune or whatever you want to call this place.” arm sweeping across the area. “we’re already trapped in the cycle of this world, the chickens shouldn’t be trapped as well.” 

the night started off fine. no different than any other night. that was until they caught a flash of a familiar head of hair around the corner. they chalked it up to a trick of the light, and turned back to the conversation at hand, not thinking of it again. the second time was harder to pass off. a flash of her face in the corner of their eye. there was no easy explanation this time. they hadn’t thought of her in ages, did anything but think about the past, always pushing forward. now face-to-face with her in a quiet corner of the kitchen, it became clear to them what was happening. “i’m being haunted.” words stated plainly. no greeting. no apology. rather, something that felt like a simple statement on their part.