People often dream what they wish to have. Writers, we write what we only wished for.

It's a little play of the mind and the manipulation of words. Zen, in her story topped the boards. But the one writing her, failed. 

"Why Empty Hospital Bed? "

Rain pelted down, the streets were empty, the roads were forgotten, it's as if cars and passersby never knew this place ever existed. Everything felt, lonely.

"And why did you use my name and yours? It wasn't a story of us. It was an illusion you created. "

His words hung closely with reality.

"I write to create an alternate version of the US I loathed. Empty, because that's what you made me feel. Hospital Bed, because I'm so sick of you."

But it was all bull.

I looked outside of the window. The interior of his car illuminated the enormity of his existence. Black like his soul.

"Okay, if that'll make you feel better. "

The rest of the ride was silent. I was cool with it. He wasn't.

" How are you? "

"It was not about you Keith. "

I don't have it in me to lie and hurt him more.

His eyes shone with unshed tears.

"I just... I needed a distraction."

"Am I?"

I'm torn between being honest and being careful.