Haze by Fred Osuna

There are cat whiskers grazing my face. I can’t open my eyes. I slide my hand under the sheets. It’s cool there. An impression. This is where she would be.

The phone vibrates beneath my pillow. I pick it up. I look down.

Y R U sad, it reads.

I sit alone in my bedroom.The ceiling fan whrrs overhead.The curtains billow and rest.

The phone rings. Hello. No one replies.

I move to the sofa. The lights are off. The cat nestles into a pillow beside me. The sun comes up. I hear garbage cans being thrown, empty, into driveways. The truck passes and turns the corner.

The door opens. She looks past me, doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. I sigh. I close my eyes.

Now she is sitting on the floor, cross-legged, head bowed. She looks up. Where are you going?

The sofa floats past her, my legs dangling. The cat stirs, returns to sleep. She rises from the floor, comes to rest beside me. A feather.

We breathe deeply, lean into one another, glide through the window into the drifting night mist. A cicada chorus envelops us: now as one, now not at all.


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Filed under Fred Osuna

17 responses to “Haze by Fred Osuna

  1. A surreal floating away, for sure Fred! The dark to light to dark again added to the unrealness–is this about memory or uncertainty?

  2. Catherine Davis

    Oh so lovely. Thread of the cat, emerging from just whiskers. Chorus of cicadas! “now as one, now not at all” just terrific.

  3. Nicely done, Fred. I like its lyrical quality that matches the story so well.

  4. guy

    This is a pleasure to read. Thanks.

    There’s something rock and roll about this. Maybe it’s the levitation.

    • Could it be the cat whiskers -> Peter Criss connection, Guy?

      • guy

        I gave this issue a thought, and it’s that somewhere towards the end of “Free your ass and your mind will follow” i imagine the band leaving the ground. There might be a link with the cicadas, too. Depending on where you are, they can be pretty raucous.

  5. Len

    i love the choppy sentences and the surreal feeling. way to go.

    • Len. I read your comment. Then I paused in reflection. I floated across the room and there was a keyboard. I am typing now. You have my gratitude. The cat is scratching at my leg.

  6. I imagine them as ghostly lovers, floating away on a cloud…

  7. Thanks to all of you for the kind comments.

  8. A powerful piece that can be interpreted on so many different levels. I really dig the poetic prose, the form, chopped sentences, the imagery and use of metaphor. Thrilling somehow yet perhaps only in memory.

  9. Kim Hutchinson

    Lovely, ethereal, and very nicely done.

  10. wow, lovely and surreal -and very gripping for me as well. Nicely done.

  11. Pingback: Week #34 – Floating away | 52|250 A Year of Flash

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