ethosa

The fire wouldn't start. The rain pelted us at an angle as if it knew what we were doing. It was my late grandfather's birthday and we were at his grave, lighting up fake gold and silver bars made of paper. Food was arranged around his grave marker, placed on the plastic plates we had taken from my mom's cabinet after she died. Take from one dead person to help serve another. I found some kind of humor in it.

Fed up with our futile firestarting, my dad lifted the cauldron. "I'm throwing it out," he said. He took two steps toward the public water hose and the embers crackled into a flame. It was as if it knew its very existence would be denied, thrown into the garbage, if it did not prove itself.

We burned the folded paper bars and some fake money that was supposed to be the currency of the underworld. Each of us did our three bows and prayers--once again, my mind was empty as I did mine--and then cleaned up the gravesite.

Everyone was in a bad mood because of my grandmother's complaints and orders, except me. I was glad I couldn't understand her language, our mother tongue. My uncle and his wife left first, leaving behind one of their umbrellas. They didn't really help clean up. I could tell she was the one who wanted to go. Our world was different from hers.

Our miniature and meaningless family service complete, we said goodbye to my grandpa before piling into my other uncle's car and driving away.

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author's note: my paternal grandfather passed away some years back. It was his birthday on the 7th. As per usual, we visited the cemetary and did some ceremony things at the behest of my grandmother.

i'll take a look-see
yeah a look-see
just a look-see
ya see?

a quay by the sea
is what i see
a smutty marquis
gone to sight-see
magnificent silk trees

if we ship him to hawaii
he'll give us the master key
then we'll cut of head before his dying plea--

to take off his goatee,
at least to a tolerable degree,
which one might say will still be shitty

"You put someone on a pedestal and forget they're human."

"It's not like I mean to. Beautiful people are beautiful and I want to admire them. I want to be around them. Maybe I forget they have faults, too, that they live lives away from me."

"And then you see a photo of them on social media in a place you have no idea about, with people you don't know, and somehow you worm your way into my bed again."

"You allow it," he said accusingly.

Gian sat up and looked at the man next to him. "I don't. This is not okay, John. It has got to stop."

"You're beautiful, too, Gian-"

"Shut the fuck up. I don't want to hear it." Gian climbed out of bed and buttoned up his jeans. "Go home."

"I don't wanna."

"Did you text Alexis and Turner about staying out late?"

John didn't want to answer. He rolled over and pulled the thin old blanket up to his red-tinged ears. He realized Gian wasn't going to say anything until he answered so he said, "I don't want to talk to them right now."

Gian sighed. "When do you ever?" He paused and pulled a shirt over his head. "I'm buying breakfast. What d'you want?"

"A sausage mc muffin."

"I'll be back in twenty." Gian grabbed his keys from the coffee table and left the small single room apartment.

John closed his eyes and cried.

***

wordcount: 241
a/n: wrote it in 10min without any editing as a (mostly) straight to document piece.