THE EMPTY GRAVE BEHIND AN I-71 GAS STATION by T.T. Madden

There is no one in this bed anymore.

We’ve woken, crawled out, leaving

behind an empty, hollow hole, and this place

is not like we remember.

The frosted grass crunches underfoot,

a great barn rots in the fields. Headlights

only ever in the distance, on faraway highways,

a neon-lit monstrosity our tombstone,

and we wonder

whether that tinge on the air is rust

or blood.

We don’t know why we’ve woken,

only that we have no use for this grave

anymore,

or for each other,

it seems.

We need time apart, after being entwined for

long.

You shot me,

don’t you remember? And I you.

And then we fell together.

Our loot lies in the hole with us, important

then, meaningless

now.

The lights pass over us,

but they cannot see us.

Were we ever really there?

THE EMPTY GRAVE BEHIND AN I-71 GAS STATION

T.T. Madden

Author Bio: T.T. Madden is a nonbinary, mixed-race writer from Baltimore for whom Halloween is a year-long holiday. Their work has been published by Bag of Bones Press, Alternating Current, and Lamplight Magazine, among others. They currently work as a showrunner for Hunt A Killer, and have additional episodes of Nighty Night with Rabia Chaudry podcast forthcoming. They can be found on Twitter @ttmaddenwrites, and refer to that carbonated beverage as "soda."