BEHIND CLOSED DOORS

Art by MOrtiz. For more, follow IG: _miiart_

“So, now that we’re alone…”

She turned towards me, a puzzled smile on her lips.

“Huh?”

The number on the electronic panel of the elevator changed to 2 and I knew I had roughly 45 seconds before we reached her floor.

“I just wanted to tell you just how much you mean to me.” I said.

“You mean a lot to me too.”

“Yeah, but you don’t mean it the way I do. You mean it in the you-are-my-ever-reliable-buddy-the-funny-guy-from-the-office-who-I-will-never-be-attracted-to way.  I mean it in the why-can’t-you-see-me-for-the-wonderful-guy-that-I-am-and-I-will-spend-my-life-making-you-happy way?”

COMEDY OR TRAGEDY

Art by MOrtiz. IG: _miiart_

“Mal? Where are you? I need the goat’s milk for my bath!”

Pygmalion grit his teeth to keep bitter words from spilling out. He took a deep breath and tried to keep the knife-like edge from his voice.

“Coming” he answered. He gave the goat’s teat a couple more painful twists, drawing a reproachful look and a surprised bleat out of it. He took a look at the pitiful amount of milk in his pail and gave a sigh. She was not going to be happy.

“Maaaaal? The goat’s milk!” Her lilting voice, once so sweet to his ears, wafted over to pummel him into action. He stood up and hurried inside the house. 

ALL TALK

Art by MOrtiz. More art at IG: _miiart_

It was time.

In about 10 seconds, she’s going to come through those doors and take a quick look around, like she was ashamed of what she’s about to do. And then, seeing just the normal crowd minding their own business, she’s going to walk quickly towards me.

She’ll lean forward, keeping her voice in a low whisper, speaking slowly but urgently. Most of the time, I find myself leaning forward too, to catch her every word, hear every lilt in her voice, feel her very breath wrapped around her secrets.

MORE OR LESS

Art by _miiart_

“Ben?”

The fear in Liza’s voice made the hair at the back of my neck stand. I quickly put Gabe down in his crib and handed him his favorite rattle. After listening to him coo for a second or two, I walked out of the room, carefully making sure to lock the door before heading over to where I knew Liza would be standing: the wall facing the front door, where all our family pictures were hung.

Except they weren’t just family pictures anymore. They’d become something more, something…inexplicable.

For the last 3 weeks, the pictures had been changing. At first it was just the little things…a kid’s jacket added in the background of the picture my mom took of me during my first day in kindergarten. An old man’s fishing hat at the corner of the picture of my dad during his Tokyo trip. A pair of fashionable women’s sunglasses on top Liza’s head, apart from the ones she was wearing on the picture.