The Sun is still fiery ball of red,
gold, and orange, the sky still painted
a dark purple with hints of dijon, the
Moon yet to fall to a deep sleep
when Jane decides to help herself
to a serving of toast.

It’s a common ritual of
sliding the bread into the cooker
waiting, waiting, waiting
until heat releases, the button
pops up, and the bread becomes toast.
It’s a common ritual for
Jane, something she has done
for the past twelve full moons.

It’s a common ritual for Jane,
something she has done for the
past twelve full moons, and yet
she frowns as she sees her toast
with a slight darkened, burnt edge, unlike
her other, perfect toasts. Unusual.
Different.

Toast at this time, when the
day has barely begun, when
even the Sun is still not fully up,
is unusual for other people.
Then to say, Jane has never
liked to be like the others.

She chews the bread
like a forty year-old gum,
shifting it around her mouth,
searching for the right time
to swallow, when He comes in.

Jane doesn’t have to look up
to know that He is in the room.
his cologne, the cologne Jane has
been telling him to throw away
for months. The scent flies through
the room and pierces Jane’s
nose. She scrunches her face up
at the smell of metal, uncleaned
jewelry, salty waters, and poisonous
alcohol.

As His toe touches the rim of
the entrance, He starts yelling.
Jane doesn’t know what he's
yelling about; could be the littlest
things, being nitpicky about the actions Jane
has done, ones that always send Him
insane.

Jane hums to the familiar yellings,
Focuses on the ringing sound
that’s beginning to fill her ears.
It’s a common ritual for Jane,
something she has done for the
past twelve full moons. She
chews her food slowly,
treating His voice as white noise
and not comprehending any
words coming from Him.

She continues to chew as His
yellings turn into shouts, his shouts
to hollers. His hollers turn into actions,
throwing bottles and cans in her direction.
It’s a common ritual for Jane,
something she has done for the past
twelve full moons. She is tired, sick
of their incessant days. She is ready to finally
let go, run away from her mess, live
her own life, forget about this
life, say good—

Wait, what?
Her neck snaps back up, dropping
the remainder of the toast,
finally listening to His words
as he continues to hurl bottles
at the walls, the broken glass
pieces piercing his hand as
the crimson blood falls to the
wooden floor, seeping through the cracks
and bleaching each splinter.
He finally stops, looks at Jane,
and opens his mouth one last time.
Done.
Tired.
Finished.
Goodbye.

He walks out through the door,
leaving the four words in Jane’s
head as the ringing ceases to
a slow stop, the words filling her
head now like a boulder crashing upon
her. She flees out the door, chasing
Him, hoping he hasn’t gone too far.
Done. Tired. Finished. Goodbye.
Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye.
She ignores the pain as she steps
on the broken bottles spread out
on the ground, the glass
pieces dig through her flesh.
Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye.
Her calls out for him are carried
by the wind, unheard to anyone. The
sound is lost into the air, leaving
only echoes and her cries of sorrow. It’s
useless.
Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye.
Her knees unlock and she crumples to
the ground as a gust of wind knocks her down.
Shouldn’t she be happy? Wasn’t this
what she wanted? She tells herself.
You should be relieved. Happy. You’re
finally Free. But her words contradict
her actions; her tears now flowing nonstop,
drenching her clothes and hair as
her voice goes hoarse from screaming
His name, His words still puncturing
her head.
Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye.
She continues to sit there, head
crouched in her wet arms, even as
her tears dry and there’s no more
able to come out, her voice disappearing
from the endless shrieks.
Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye.

The leftover burnt toast, with
a few bites missing, still lays on
the table surrounding the mess
of wood splinters, broken glass
pieces, and blood,
Forgotten.