Fiction from Jad Josey

Photo: Cherry Laithang

It Finally Happened

The sun dissolved into the sea today. It finally happened this time—it was not a metaphor for your fading love or a simile about your joy winking out like a light. The sun touched down, an inverted avalanche of steam cascading skyward as our best star tipped into the ocean. I was listening to the same mockingbird we used to hear on our evening walks: he was mid-fourth call of the thirteen he sings, halfway through his trilling crescendo, when the sun extinguished for eternity. I listened to him finish in the first true darkness of my life, pulling the scarf you crocheted tight around my neck and face, yarn haunted by the ghost of your fingers. Then I leaned up against the rough bark of the mockingbird’s tree and tried to remember thirteen songs I knew before the cold swallowed us both.


Jad Josey lives on the central coast of California. When he isn’t writing, he tries to spend as much time in the ocean as possible. His work has appeared in Glimmer Train, CutBank, Passages North, Reed Magazine, Pithead Chapel, and elsewhere. You can find his stories at or reach out on Twitter @jadjosey.

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