Author: Ambisexual

Post Departure.

All you really need to know is that Tess’ mind warps messed up Kyle pretty badly. Now he’s out for revenge. (Kyle POV)

Disclamer: This is me staring at the floor. This is me staring at the ceiling. This is me not owning anything. Got it? Just in case you don’t: references to Roswell; references to Memento.



A lot of things in life are incoherent. Paintings are incoherent sometimes. Homework is most definitely incoherent most of the time. Alien crop circles are the most incoherent.

Right now, my life is incoherent. Nothing makes sense anymore. I can’t tell you what year it is. I can’t tell you the date. I can’t tell you where I am.

And its not because I’d have to kill you if you knew. It’s because I don’t know.

What is Max Evans’ dead mangled body doing at my feet? I have no clue how it got here.

His head is missing. It’s in my hands.

Now, I’m going to take a wild guess at this situation and say I killed him. I don’t remember doing it, but his head is in my hands and it is just the dead guy and I. Doesn’t leave very many options.

It takes 7 lbs. of pressure to rip off a human ear. Ripping off a human head isn’t much harder. Sort of like twisting off a bottle cap. The first turn is the hardest, as you must sever the cervical vertebrae and the spinal cord. But after another twelve or so turns, ta-da, the head is off! Nothing could be easier. Time to go home.

I wish I could remember what happened. I wish I could remember why I’m standing in this shack in the middle of nowhere. I wish I could remember.

But life is funny like. Its what you wish for that you never get.


People need to take things slowly with me. Things in my life move too fast. Fast scares me. I don’t like being scared. I don’t like being vulnerable. I like knowing there will always be ground beneath me, at a reasonable distance away.

The problem is, things in my life stop short, and that hurts. I don’t want to hurt, so I hurt others before they can hurt me.

So, I’m aware that that’s not exactly a positive personality trait, but its mine and its safe.

Anyway, its not like I’m lonely because of it. I’m just alone. Alone is safe. Alone is quiet. Alone comes without obligation. Alone comes without consequences.

I appreciate that, especially with my current condition. I mean, how many people are consequence and obligation free?

Liz understands. That’s why she’s in bed beside me. I let my fingers drift through her dark brown hair and down her back to her side. I force her to turn over so that I can see her face. I need to see her face, her eyes, to make sure it’s really her.

Yep, it’s Liz. She’s wearing a nametag just to make sure I remember. She’s nice like that. At least, right now she’s nice. In a few hours she’ll wake up and leave, again. I’ll have to call her and ask to have her come over again.

“Times up.” Told ya. See, she woke up. Now I just wish I knew what she was talking about. I watch her get up and put her clothes back on.

Funny, in this light she really doesn’t look like Liz. Not my Liz.

“Buddy, did ya hear me?” She’s not my Liz. My Liz is dead.

Sometimes I think my mind creates this fantasy world so as to not let me remember what is real. But I guess I’d rather believe a lie then have to continue to live in a world I hate; a world I want to do away with.

My mind likes to play tricks on me. Late at night, sometimes when it is quiet and I’m alone, I can feel Liz’s body pressing against my own. I can hear her soft snoring. I sense her silky hair dragging against my skin as she shifts about. And I can hear her mumble incoherently in her sleep. My mind creates these fantasies; it teases and taunts me, reminding me of what I once had, but lost so quickly.

I miss those moments. I miss the time we had together. I miss my wife. And I swear to god I’ll find the bastard that killed her.