windowless

by Nolan Knight

Sleep comes in spurts. Every night, a clean break at 4:08am. A window opens. I get up to close, but it moves. Tonight, to the ceiling. Through it, an attic; there, a projector spits dreadful scenes. Car crash I caused in ’97. A slow boy I bullied to bully. My father, during last rites—me not saying I love you. Cringe moments that should’ve been different…. Now sleep stutters. Every night, a window. Its draft cold, blue. Yesterday: the closet. Through glass, records looped tunes from lost years. Theme songs to pill-fueled summers, soaked in cheap liquor, rough sex. Then Mooch’s OD. Barfly years. Soundtracks to forgotten birthdays (mom/wife/daughter/ son). Songs for my apocalypse. Needle never skips. Tomorrow could show promise. A window on the floor—to my future, void and black. Placed there to take me down, I hope. Where sleep isn’t an issue. And windows don’t exist.

Photo of Nolan Knight

BIO: Nolan Knight is the author of THE GORGON OF LOS FELIZ, GALLOWS DOME, THE NEON LIGHTS ARE VEINS, and BENEATH THE BLACK PALMS. He is a fourth generation Angeleno and former staff writer for Los Angeles’ Biggest Music Publication, the L.A. Record. His short fiction has been featured in various publications including Akashic Books, Thuglit, Shotgun Honey, Starlite Pulp, and Action, Spectacle. His work has been met with praise by luminaries such as Barry Gifford, James Sallis, Allison Anders, and Lydia Lunch.