Issue 24

Valerie Coulton

My character never slept in the street by the Chinese gate.

My character had inconsistent handwriting and a scribbled signature, like a hieroglyph.

My character was being followed by a clumsy detective.

She was eating cheese and bread, drinking grape juice, listening to the radio impatiently, saying play something good.

My character was about to do something from a rival’s set of plot twists.

I leapt to intercede and we argued over dinner, and again while she was taking a bath.

I wanted more for my character. She kept letting out the cooling water and running in more very hot water, and I was worried about the water heater.

My character never slept in the street in Berlin. She was prone to half-eating pieces of fruit, to abandoning books well past the middle.

Her moods were becoming unpredictable. I wanted something to happen with the detective. I wanted her to acquire a dog or go on holiday.

My character accused me of having an affair, more than one. I kept my mouth shut and she drank from the plastic glass of ice water, her favorite in the bath.

My character had delusions of grandeur. She couldn’t see herself in mirrors. She believed her own photographs and dismissed those snapped by anyone else.

My character was reading a dangerous book.

The clumsy detective was about to take another job and get a dog for himself.

My character made vows on a weekly, if not daily basis. I expected her to get a tattoo and dye her hair.

My character was on some kind of quest. But not the interesting kind I admired in other characters.

I wondered how long all this could go on.

My character should have been born in October.

The clumsy detective was making soup while his new dog deconstructed a large stuffed panda bear. A little of this, a little of that. Stuffing starting to leak from a seam in the back.

My character was speed dreaming with the clock in her hand.

My character came across the expression feeling tones and wrote it in one of her many notebooks.

I wrote my character a long email. Speaking face to face made me sweat.

Why haven’t you adopted the good habits we designed together? What happened to those architecture books you wanted so badly? If you’re so cold, why don’t you buy a jacket?

Bath after bath. Book after book.

He was browsing online courses. Now when he knocked something off the table, it provided excitement for both him and the dog.

My character was regarding herself in the reflective window of a funeral home.

He selected “Ghosts in Literature Throughout Time.”

My character seemed to be waiting for something to happen.

I didn’t know what to say to my character when we met for coffee in her favorite café. I was distracted by the man with the newspaper and the two young women.

The clumsy detective watched six vampire movies, one after the other. He fell asleep on the floor.

One day my character disappeared.

She left behind too many things to describe.

The rain, which had seemed so unimportant, now came into focus as a potential new protagonist.

The clumsy detective didn’t really mind taking the dog out, even in the newly important rain.

Don’t be impatient, I would tell her as she shifted in the bath.

I can call my character to mind very clearly; I just don’t choose to do so.

The clumsy detective was doing his coursework when the day brightened and the dog began to bark.

He had recently solved something for someone and had money hidden in the cereal box.

I know my character will come back. Someday.

My character never slept in the street in Berlin. She was prone to half-eating pieces of fruit, to abandoning books well past the middle.