TRASH CAT LIT

Jesse Binger

Listen to Jesse read his story

The night buries me. Soft scents of perfume—jasmine, honey blossom. You’re there but you’re not. 

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Sometimes we’re meant to be someone we’re not. You tell me. That day at the lake. We drift in the water. Well, I swim, you wade. You haven’t learned yet. But that’ll come.

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Frankie’s got the idea. We go along with it because we’re barely eighteen, so full of life, been through the guillotine already, and have come out unscathed. It’s just a liquor store, one old man, enough in the register to get us out of here.

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I think it’s a hummingbird. It perches outside my window every night. It sings a song—not pretty like I’d expect a hummingbird to sing—more unsettling. Honks and whistles. Hard sounds. Cacophonous pecking.

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I’m inside with Frankie. You’re in the car. It’s all so easy. We’re out in five. But why’d you come out? It wasn’t the plan. 

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Sometimes I think about going anyway. Des Moines. Topeka. Anywhere but here.

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The streetlights illuminate you through the windshield. I cry out.

Jesse Binger is a fiction writer from New Jersey. His short stories are published or forthcoming at Bending Genres, Bristol Noir, Close to the Bone, Revolution John, Pistol Jim Press, Yellow Mama, Underbelly Press and Literary Garage.
You can find him at http://www.jessebinger.com

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