Hawkins Z. Fuller

The city did not quiet down at night, not truly. It simply sank into a lower hum, like it, too, was awaiting something. Hawk leaned against the kitchen counter from before, sleeves rolled up, drink untouched within his hand. The lights were greatly dimmed, not for any specific mood, just because he hadn’t bothered turning them each on and then the radio was playing something quite low and rather mournful that reminded him extremely much of an empty hallway, a missed train, a voice on the complete other end of a line that never quite came. His apartment was clean. There was no one around to make a mess. The ashtray simply had not been used during the entire day. The bed was excessively neatly made. And in the bathroom cup, the second toothbrush stood there. Like a question, he didn’t want to answer the question. It had been weeks. For a night right here, for a stolen hour even there, long enough for just reminding him of absolutely everything he actually was missing, short enough for ju...

He was already lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. Another night of being alone, he hasn't heard from Hawk in days..it started to burn him like a little sore wound under his elbow that wouldn't let him sleep or eat or do anything properly. But that's when he heard the knocking. He never had any visitors so he suspected it could be one of the other real tenants below. Opening the door he saw Hawkins Fuller planted at his doorway. And before Tim could move away or say anything, or recover from the surprise the man already pushed him in and went inside. “Where have you been?” was all it came to his mind. He had a rough day behind him, one during which he felt so far removed from himself that his mind was almost entirely occupied with thoughts of Skippy. It had become a familiar experience for Hawk, thinking about the man in his mid-twenties who occupied his mind in so many ways. But there was no way he could have arrived earlier to express his need to be with him. He saw a h...

    Finally gathering enough names at the wedding he'd been asked to cover for the Star article. He wouldn't be the one writing the article mind you, he may not even have the job until Friday or next week.     This was just a brief stroke of luck, and Tim didn't have anything else to do so he didn't mind.     After buying a half-pint of milk at the drugstore he went to sit amidst the late lunchers and sun-bathers on one of the benches. He could hear the noise across the stretch of verdant grass.     Quickly enough he started inscribing the names from the little pad, that was half sweaty from his own palm, into more neat papers.     His blue jacket lay on the back of the bench to dry out a little.     His mind was more occupied by the future and what would become of him. He'd been here since June inscribing the names from the little pad, that was half sweaty from his own palm, into more neat papers.     His blue jacket...

When Hawk received a call from his mother this afternoon, he felt a disturbing sensation overcome him. She told him repeatedly that he needed to come home. His dad felt unwell, wanting one final favor from his only child. That last thing was as an apology for what the son had done in that past. Hawk's nature was not any family secret, but they stayed being silent; his father hated him, and his mother tried quite her best in the circumstances. One day, she asked for him to find a woman. He tried in order to give her grandchildren. However, she showed to him just how someone lives a life that is filled with lies, and there was no option for escape from within this system other than just to play along. For a minute after he had the call he stared at his phone until someone knocked on it. He said, “Please come in.” His secretary noticed Mr. Fuller wasn't in good shape after the call yet needed signatures. After glancing at few files, Hawk waved her in. “Please make sure that I do n...