Saturday night in the most geographically remote place on the planet

salt stains on my desk

suggest that I am real, but

it's another lie

Soul-itude

I like this time of night.

Nobody is awake. It's far too late on my side of the world, and it's a little too early for everybody else. I hear no voices, no footsteps. All I hear is the wind, and my fingers against the keys.

I sit up straight and my spine scolds me for slouching, voicing its displeasure with a half-dozen little pops.

The hours pass quickly when it's this late. Soon my world will be waking. The sun will peek up, warmly rousing the East. It'll pass over the land, casting its light onto sleeping bodies. More will wake, yawn, and stretch. Finally, finally the sun will find me. It will cross the water, traveling traveling traveling until it reaches me. It will creep up over the mountains, cast its light through the trees and into my windows. I'll admire the rays that cascade onto my floor, splay across my walls.

I will smile and shut my eyes.

I hope.

Imagination is not only part of an act: it is, itself, action.

This might not make the final cut, so here's the first 1200 words.

Reed took a deep breath as her grip on the wheel tightened. Her heartbeat seemed to echo in the empty car and her eyes twitched under closed lids. She tried to release the muscles in her jaw, but couldn’t, and opened her eyes. She gasped and tension flew through her arms. The car’s headlights illuminated the road ahead, showed the right front tire easing itself onto the shoulder. Reed screamed at her body to not jerk the wheel to the left. The car would probably flip, or at least fly into a spin. Instead, arms and shoulders rigid, she held the wheel steady. Inch by inch, she urged the car back onto the road and into the proper lane. Reed painfully rolled her shoulders back, trying to relax her muscles. She stretched her head to the left, then right, and exhaled loudly. She didn’t usually let it go that long. Normally, her eyes were open by the time she started drifting out of her lane. This time, she had crossed two before forcing herself back to reality. There was nobody else on the road; there never was. The destructive game was reserved for painfully late nights and long stretches of straight and empty highway. If she were to take it too far, Reed wouldn’t be responsible for anybody but herself.

The jeep bumped into the alley. Something rattled, something that had been rattling for a while, and Reed made a mental note to call her mechanic. The headlights played over the neighbor’s garage and backyard as she turned into her driveway. Reed gingerly put the car in park, as it had a tendency to stick in neutral, and pulled the keys from the ignition. She leaned her head back, closed her eyes for a moment. Reed shook her head, brow furrowed, and tried to find the humor in the situation as she climbed out of the car. She placed one foot in front of the other, head down, as she made her way through the gate, across the backyard, and up the back porch. As the key slid the bolt back from the doorframe, Reed heard something large and furry bounding for the door. She stepped into the kitchen as the dog padded in, feigning sudden apathy at her return.

“Conejo, idiota. Que pasa?”

The malamute sat back on his haunches and cocked his head to the side. His gaze seemed to inquire about Reed’s night.

“You really want to know?”

The dog sat, looking expectant.

“Worst sex of my life.”

Conejo sneezed.

“You’re telling me. Let’s go outside.”

Reed pushed open the screen door, allowing the dog to brush past her legs and emerge into the darkness. She let the door slam shut, taking the few steps to the fridge and grabbing a beer. Drink in hand, she leaned against the counter and brushed a strand of hair from her face. Conejo barked once and Reed headed out the back door.

“Caete la boca. Do you want to wake the neighborhood?”

Reed set herself down on the top step of the porch. She pushed up the sleeve of her jacket to glance at her watch; the glowing 3:48 cut through the darkness. Reed groaned and popped open her beer. Conejo was snuffling around the fence, looking for the perfect place to relieve himself. Eventually he found it, and the sound of urine on metal carried through the yard. That taken care of, the dog came sauntering back to the porch. He sat down next to Reed and rested his head on her knee. The light from the kitchen cast a light glow over the two of them; Reed could see the whine in his eyes.

“Eres borracho,” she said, and poured some beer into her cupped palm. Conejo lapped it up happily.

She took another sip and laid back flat on the porch. There was a break in the trees and Reed could see a few stars overhead. The light pollution obscured most of the sky’s potential, but there were always a couple visible stars on clear nights. Conejo, belly to the porch, edged his way to Reed’s side. His nose brushed against her outstretched hand and the moisture made her shiver. She was glad for the leather jacket, though it had been warmer than necessary earlier in the evening.

“Conejo,” she said, turning her face toward the furry presence.

The dog raised his head and looked to meet her gaze.

“What am I doing?”

Conejo had no response, save for a snuffle and a blink. Reed continued to stare at her pup, mind lost in the evening’s events. She let her eyes soften, and the few shapes she could see through the darkness acquired a general blur. After a moment, her eyes refocused on Conejo. She smiled.

“Eres mi amor. No necesito alguien sino tu. Vamanos.”

Reed sat up, got to her feet, and opened the door to let the dog into the house ahead of her. Conejo sauntered into the living room, presumably to curl up in his bed and fall asleep. Lucky. Reed set her partial beer in the sink; between her and the dog, it was a little over half gone. She grabbed her keys, replacing them on the hook next to the fridge, and shrugged out of her jacket before throwing it on an unoccupied chair. One more look around the room and Reed trudged away, the hour weighing on her. She took off her sneakers as she walked, not bothering to untie them or put them in the back closet.

Once in the bathroom, Reed turned on the water and began undressing. She pulled the t-shirt off over her head, letting it land in a crumpled heap next to the hamper. Her fingers fumbled as she undid her belt buckle, but managed to free her button and zipper. Slowly, sleepily, she eased the jeans over her hips and down to the floor. She stepped out of them and kicked them away. Reed closed her eyes and stepped into the shower. It was too hot, but she didn’t care. The water felt good on her skin, and she relaxed as the last 24 hours washed off her body and down the drain.

Shampoo, conditioner, body, face. The routine required zero thought and Reed went through the motions, hardly conscious of her hands on her own body. She finally turned off the water, face still angled up toward the showerhead. With a sigh, she stepped out, grabbing a towel from the shelf above the toilet. Reed wrapped it around herself and wiped the condensation from the mirror with her palm. A tired face stared back at her, makeup slightly smudged and green eyes dulled with exhaustion. She blinked at her reflection – once, twice, three times – then turned and walked from the bathroom. Reed took the few steps to her room, walked through the door, and let the towel fall. She moved toward the bed, throwing back the covers before climbing in. Reed’s wet hair began to soak the pillow as she drifted off to sleep.