Nothing, The Knight
by Mackenzie Kae
i still dream of greatness, once a week or so. the other nights, i dream of ghostly lovers, unfinished chores, or nothing. nothing. my sword is a dish sponge. my armor is a threadbare shirt. my damsel – a stranger in a reflection. strange, fair lady, are you in distress? she says nothing. nothing. insomnia possesses me, once a month or so. at dusk, i rise. at midnight, the chores are finished. at dawn, the ghosts gain corporeal forms. i don my armor. i sling the water off of my sword. the courtyard is bordered by plastic kitchens, lined with green chalk. i strike. i parry. i draw first blood from nothing. nothing. the past surrenders to me. later, after, once the shining sun has risen high, he asks. he has the strangest dream, once a year or so. ghosts clash in the night. swords cry out like cats in the alley. he swears he heard it. he swears he saw greatness. did i see anything? did i hear anything? nothing. i say. nothing.
Mackenzie Kae is a writer living in Kentucky. She enjoys caring for rambunctious beings and floating through fantasies. Her work has appeared in Bright Flash Literary Review, Skeleton Flowers Press, and Corvus Review. Bluesky: @mackenziekae.bsky.social