casburtoncreates

[casburtoncreates]

Flood

Brooklyn is a river.

I watch its whitewater rapids rage through a screen

From the comfort of my distant bed

I think of you

I hope you’re safe.

I picture you, as I always do

Lying on your side, facing me

Half-asleep, half-awake

Half-moon eyes bleary

Half-moon smile on your lips

You whisper and I don’t quite hear you

I never hear you anymore.

Brooklyn is a river

And I want to swim in its waters

Front crawl, butterfly, breast stroke

Whatever would get me to you

Whatever would bring you to me

I want the waters to wash me clean

To strip the sin from me so I reach you as I met you

To wash the hurt from you til you forgive me

Do not swim in floodwaters

You will drown just as I did

I hope you’re safe

I know you’re loved.

I hope I drown in the flood.

[casburtoncreates]

[casburtoncreates]

Bringing up the bodies (WIP)

Jacob was intimately familiar with the various sounds the dead made as they were swallowed by the still waters of the lake. The longer they had been gone, the less noise they made, with only a few exceptions.

The more recently expired still had air in their lungs, bubbling to the surface, and sometimes the icy grip of the water would cause their muscles to contract, splashing as they fought to escape their fate. Those that had time to decompose and marinate, on the other hand, slid silently below the surface, slack limbs giving way without protest, embraced by the icy depths.

He’d been helping his mother with the bodies since he was only small, five summers old at the most. Now he did the work alone, silent and resigned. It was a job that didn’t bring much in the way of socialising; his clients rarely talked back when he spoke to them, and he’d given up trying a long time ago. 

All his needs were seen to, of course. The village provided well for his position. He was never short of food, drink or medicine. Each morning, he made his way from the banks of the lake where he had waited all night, and tucked himself into a soft bed of woolen blankets, gifted by the textile guild. He would stare at the wooden ceiling of his hut long past sunrise. When he finally slept, he slept fitfully, dreams bringing him no rest.

[casburtoncreates]

[casburtoncreates]

an abundance of limes

I met him in the summer, in the cool shade of the fruit store awning. Our hands met over limes, and when I looked up I was greeted with green eyes that matched them perfectly.

For eight years he taught me how to use them; how to savour their tart sting, to bring out the sticky sweetness they left behind. They were at the top of every shopping list, every sticky note left on the fridge or computer monitor, every fruit bowl, he left the scent of them in each room behind him.

The nurses in the hospice loved him. He brought the zing of summer fruits into even the coldest, most clinical winter night.

At his wake, the last one to see him took me aside and gave me a gift. A tiny lime seedling, just beginning to sprout. She had taken the seeds from one of the fruits at his bedside that night.

It’s been five years of long, cold winters, where the sun has seemed to have left us completely. I’ve kept the seedling at my bedside in the hope that it would bring spring closer.

And now, on my tree, there is a single, tiny lime.

[casburtoncreates]

[casburtoncreates]

The Voice in the Static - Abridged

No birds. No bees. Just him, and the voice, and the static. He’d been following it for weeks, trudging through dusty fallout and watching the radiation climb on his Geiger.  Their clicks sung him to sleep alongside the radio, softly insistent. He heard the voice in his dreams. It was just the two of them now, miles apart, but gaining.

He gazed up at the radio tower, watched as dusty wind blew across rusting struts and rattled the chain link fence. The Geiger rattled softly in his left hand, a serpent’s warning, now that all the real snakes were long gone. The windows on the top floor were shuttered, but he could see light shining through the cracks. The voice in the static hummed and sighed, lamenting days past. He knew the studio was up there, from trips to his father’s work as a child. He remembered sitting in the chair during ad breaks, singing jingles into the muted microphone, songs for products that would never be bought again. Under his swollen fingers, the metal gate was cold and soothing.

The glass frontage of the station was an easy task; a few swings of his hammer and it shattered, covering the lobby with blood-streaked diamonds. There were no cries from inside, no signs of life. In the break room, the vending machine still hummed quietly. The food inside it would outlast him, no doubt.

As he climbed the stairs, the static rose too, his tiny radio filling the air with sound. His breath caught as the thought of finally seeing him; the voice, in person. The things they would do. The things they would say. The future where they would not be alone.

As he stepped into the studio, for a moment, he thought it was unoccupied. He felt the cold fear wash sweep over him in an instant, before spotting the figure slumped on the floor beside the desk.

He laughed as he ran a gentle fingertip over his love’s face, caressing the exposed cheekbone. Gently he lay down beside the corpse, wrapping their arms around each other, the radio between them. They would be together now, always. They would never have to be alone again. As he kissed what used to be lips, the static started playing their song.

[casburtoncreates]

[casburtoncreates]

Five years, they’d been living together.

Friends had stopped making the will they, won’t they jokes and accepted, pretty much, that they were what they were. Platonic. Neutral. Married, in all but name and bedroom arrangements. They were an odd couple, that was for sure. Sam, the eternal overachiever, going to his nine to five every day, keeping the flat clean, cooking the meals and organising meetups with their old friends. Jason, on the other hand, was a recluse. Filling the hallway with dirty dishes, never leaving the house, rarely taking phone calls. Still not got a job? Sam’s parents would ask over Facetime once a week. He’s got an office job, Sam would lie, unconvincingly. He’s an accountant. An accountant who littered the hallway with his 8-inch heels late at night, who took all his meetings in his room, through video call. Accounting is a very serious business, Sam would argue, and his parents would look at each other on the other end of the line and sigh, before telling their son that they loved him, but…

There was always a but. He went into tech, against their wishes, so he should have been designing software for MI6 by now. He needed to have them over more often, throw some classy dinner parties for them and their friends to show off how well he was doing. He needed to find a decent girl, and move in with her, and leave Jason behind. It didn’t matter that Sam didn’t like MI6, or parties, or girls. They insisted, and so he tried. He made job applications, he bought new cutlery, he scrolled Tinder. He went to interviews, he bought a table runner, he got drunk at the bar before his date, and left alone. He crashed out on the sofa, beside Jason as he rolled up, and shoved his feet in his friend’s face.

“They smell like defeat.”

“They smell like you’re being a twat. It’s only seven, how’re you bladdered already?” Jason frowned at Sam from beneath a mop of curly blond hair and shoved his legs onto the floor. “You’re gonna spill my baccy.” Sam smiled at him hazily, leaning forward to pat the other man’s head gently.

“You’re such a fucking angel Jace, honestly,” he slurred, arm now swinging to grab the half-rolled cigarette, “you’re my best friend.” Sam neatly lifted the cigarette out of harm’s way, rolling and sealing it with a practised ease before answering.

“Yeah, you’re my best friend too mate, but you’re absolutely pissed.” Sam pouted at him, bottom lip quivering, and he sighed heavily, passing his friend the cigarette, and pulling out another paper. “You better smoke all of it this time.” Last month had been a disaster; Sam had taken one to bed and fallen asleep with it still burning. Now, he was supervised.

“I’m an adult, Jace. A man. A big, strong, man, with a job in tech and a pension. Did you know that?” Jason snorted, used to his friend’s drunken rambling by now.

“Ah, yeah sorry mate, I forgot. You’re a big boy now, you don’t need anyone to watch you smoke. I still gotta wipe your arse though, orders are orders.” Sam spluttered, smoke exiting his nostrils, and the two of them dissolved into laughter, the sound echoing in Sam’s ears, until he realised, he wasn’t laughing anymore. “Uh, Sam, dude, are you okay?” Jason was suddenly very quiet, holding his friend’s shoulder with a surprising gentleness as the tears rolled down Sam’s face. “Do you…” He faltered, unsure how to deal with this new territory. They’d lived together five years. “Do you want to talk about it?” Sam took a long drag of his damp cigarette, his throat burning. If he filled the room with enough smoke, he wouldn’t be able to see those hazel eyes anymore- the ones that were filled with concern; that were his fault, because he’d let himself be weak for the first time. This wasn’t him. He didn’t cry, not in front of Jason. Only ever in the dead of the night, alone in his room, or after his parents called, in the bathroom at the office, or on the train home, his face pressed against the window of the underground. Anywhere but here. He took another drag, this one more of a desperate gasp, and the hand on his shoulder tightened. “Hey,” the soft voice near his ear murmured, “you’re gonna make yourself sick, slow down.” And it was true, he could already feel it. But this was what he needed.

“I’m gonna throw up.” Jason was on his feet immediately, his roll-up tucked behind his ear, and Sam’s now confiscated, resting between his lips. He reached down and lifted his friend, awkwardly, hoisting him up by the armpits, until Sam was walking on Bambi legs to the bathroom. Still damp from the stumble home, shirt buttons undone, eyes glassy, he gazed up at Jason like a child beholding the face of God. Those deep brown eyes seemed to see every part of him, and Jason shivered, suddenly feeling his stomach twist in an unexpected fashion. Speeding up, he deposited the drunken mess on the bathroom floor, watching him sink to the ground in slow motion. Sam smiled into the toilet bowl, looking for all the world content, and Jason sighed.

“I’m just gonna go finish these,” he instructed, “so stay here, and try to throw up if you can.” Sam nodded, eyes now closed as he rested his face against the cold toilet seat, and Jason made a hasty exit, head spinning considerably more than his sober state would have warranted.

Stepping onto the tiny balcony of their flat, he took in the concrete terrace, the sad attempts he’d made at growing his own, next to Sam’s flourishing avocado plants and potted herbs. Sam, who always had it together. Who paid the rent for them both most months, who never told him off for accidentally dyeing the shower tray, who helped him pick out new outfits for his shows, but would never dream of watching one, despite the number of hints Jason had dropped. He took a shuddering breath, feeling the cool evening breeze calm the turmoil in his stomach. Sam was crying, and he was out here, because he didn’t trust himself. Because after five years, it would take less than five seconds to burn it all down.

He took a few minutes in the night air, letting the sounds of the city wash over him. The gentle patter of the rain mixed with the sounds of passing cars far below, the distant sirens and the partygoers enjoying Friday night to the fullest. The city was spread out like a map in front of him, and he navigated by the lights, starbursts of red, yellow, and flashing blue. There was Sam’s office, far in the distance, rising above the other tower blocks to pierce the sky. It was ugly, sparkling glass and steel beams doing nothing to hide its corporate violence. They’d razed a ghetto to build it, seven years ago, and it still held those memories within it, the scent of capitalist greed lingering in its hallways like garbage on a hot day. To the right, slightly closer, was their old university, the lecture halls and library spaces where he and Sam had first met- where they’d been bitter rivals, then reluctant partners, then finally, the oddest of friends, joined at the hip. Inside, he heard the toilet flush, and a tired goodnight was called out from beyond the sliding doors as his friend retired to his room, no doubt to pass out, fully clothed on the bed. Jason resisted the urge to go and check on him, bring him a bucket, maybe put him in the recovery position. He was a grown man now. He didn’t need someone to hold his hand.

Jason lay awake for longer than usual that night. By the time he finally drifted off, the sun was already cresting the tower blocks.

  It was late afternoon by the time Sam left his room, dressed in his boxers and one of Jason’s old summer camp t-shirts. Jason looked up from the sofa and held back a chuckle at his friend’s dishevelled state, the imprint of the sheets still evident on the dark skin of his face, sleep in his eyes and one sock still hanging on, halfway down his foot. He directed Sam to the pot of coffee, now going cold on the side, and offered a cigarette, which his friend declined, nose wrinkling.

“No way in hell am I doing that again.” Jason shrugged.

“Suit yourself, mate.” He wandered over to the balcony, whose doors were open, streaming sunlight into the flat, and lit up as he waited for Sam to join him. After a minute, he felt a presence, and glanced over to see the other man stood beside him, leaning against the railing and gripping his mug like a lifeline. They stood in silence for a little while, taking in the scent of warm, damp tarmac, and Saturday afternoon cooking drifting up from a few floors below. Sam finally spoke.

“I can’t keep doing this Tinder bullshit. And I don’t want kids. They don’t understand that.” Jason nodded slowly as his friend continued. “I got a job offer yesterday. From a gaming tech company in Glasgow.”

“They won’t like that.”

“I know.” Another few minutes of silence. Glasgow was a long way away. Too far to commute. The world seemed to hold its breath. “But I can’t keep doing this. It’s going to kill me.”

“You’ve always wanted to go into the games industry. What’s the pay like?” Sam scoffed as Jason asked the question, and they both shared a chuckle.

“Oh, it’s shit, of course. But what’s new? At least rent there’ll be cheaper.” And there it was. The question hung over them like a dark cloud.

“Do you…” Jason’s fingers gripped the railing tightly as he struggled to get the words out in an order that would make sense, that would give him the best possible chance of a positive answer. “Do you want me there?” No, that was all wrong. He couldn’t take the reply to that. He couldn’t take the rejection-

“Yes.” The reply was quiet, but firm; so much so in fact, that even Sam seemed surprised by the force with which he’d spoken it. “I- I mean, yeah, if you want to be there. I’d really like that. I know it’s far away, but-“

“Then I’ll be there.” The matter was settled. Sam loosened his grip on his mug, which was now lukewarm, at best. He hadn’t drunk the coffee yet. Part of him didn’t want to wake up fully. If he was still in this haze, perhaps, he could act like he was still dreaming. In this liminal space between waking and sleeping, the possibilities were endless. It had already worked once. He looked over at Jason, taking him in. Silhouetted against the sky, he was once again an angel. Last night Sam had looked up at him and seen the universe. Now he could see it again. It was in the way he picked his nails, in the way he shook his hair out of his eyes. In the concentration as he surveyed the city, their city, like he was always seeing it for the last time. In the way he looked back at Sam now, questioningly, with his head cocked slightly to one side, a smile playing around the corner of his mouth.

“You’re beautiful.” The words were out of his mouth before he could take them back, and they hung in the air between the two, a mystery to be unravelled. He could play it off as a joke, he could make it friendly, he could- he didn’t know.

Sam stubbed out his cigarette, letting the filter drop to the street far below. He looked away for a moment again, frowning at the office block in the distance. “S- sorry,” Sam stuttered, “I-“

“Do you want to get a one-bedroom, in Glasgow?” There was silence for a moment, and as he looked back, he saw the hurt in Sam’s eyes, and realised. “Not like that, I-“

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“No, I just meant-“

“I’ll leave, I’m sorry, I made things-“

The kiss surprised them both. Jason hadn’t thought about it, not really. Sam wasn’t listening, he didn’t understand, and so he’d just… Kissed him. It had seemed like a simple act of communication at the time, but now it was so much more. Sam’s hands fisted in his hair as they pressed against the railing, the coffee mug broken on the terrace floor, locked together for what seemed like a lifetime, but still not long enough. It was an eternity before they broke apart, breathing heavily, foreheads pressed together like hands in prayer. Jason pressed another soft kiss against Sam’s lips, before smiling.

“No more Tinder dates.” And the matter was settled.

[casburtoncreates]

[casburtoncreates]

during the testing phase i’m not using proper graphics yet- so please enjoy the vibes of the rugged cowboy hunks being portrayed by labelled silhouettes of anime girlies <3

[casburtoncreates]

[casburtoncreates]

I know that y’all are gonna be degenerates about my boys. I’m prepared for this. Don’t test me.

[casburtoncreates]

[casburtoncreates]

back at it again with the coding in a dead software when I’m supposed to be working on my dissertation! you can take the boy out of the games but you can’t take the games out of the boy, etc etc

[casburtoncreates]

Épocas mejores by Ibai Via Flickr: Más en www.ibaiacevedo.com | Facebook