{"id":774,"date":"2020-05-14T14:38:29","date_gmt":"2020-05-14T18:38:29","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.stelliform.press\/?page_id=774"},"modified":"2020-05-14T14:50:37","modified_gmt":"2020-05-14T18:50:37","slug":"depart-depart-excerpt","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.stelliform.press\/index.php\/depart-depart-excerpt\/","title":{"rendered":"An Excerpt from Sim Kern’s Depart, Depart!"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"
DEPART, DEPART! will be published September 1 2020 and is available for pre-order now<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>

\nA wave of humanity flows onto the court of the Dallas Mavericks\nbasketball arena,\nwearing the clothes people wear at 3:00\nAM, clutching the things people grab when they\nhave seconds before the world ends. They streak mud across the rubber\nbarrier protecting the court, dumping the backpacks and plastic bags\nand, in some cases, the nothing-at-all that is left of their lives\nonto army-green nylon cots. Families shout and wave to secure clumps\nof cots together. Chihuahuas and pit bulls strain at their leashes,\nsnarling. The energy is bloodshot, the din panic. \n<\/p>

Noah\nis rooted to the ground. For the last year, he\u2019s hardly left\nMontrose, Houston\u2019s queer neighborhood, where it\u2019s easy to forget\nthat he lives in Texas. Now, hundreds of capital-T Texans swarm\naround him. They\u2019re busy scrambling for cots, but soon they will\nsettle, and look around, and see Noah in their midst. \n<\/p>

\u201cYou\nhave to move,\u201d says the child staring up at Noah. He looks about\nseven years old. He\u2019s not transparent, but he is\n<\/em>unpigmented,\ndressed in knickerbockers and a cuffed man\u2019s shirt, like an\nold-time black-and-white photograph made flesh. He has Noah\u2019s same\nlong nose and black hair with a broad wave, and Noah strongly\nsuspects that the boy is his great-grandfather Abe, at the age Abe\nwas when his uncle stuffed him in a duffel bag and carried him onto a\nboat out of Germany.<\/p>

Noah\u2019s\nnot sure what he\u2019s more frightened of  \u2014 Abe being\nreal, or Abe not\n<\/em>being real, or the\nthick-necked dad in a Texans jersey who just walked right through\nhim. But the ghost boy has saved Noah\u2019s life twice in as many days,\nso when Abe says, \u201cLet\u2019s go,\u201d Noah follows.<\/p>

Abe\nleads him off the court into the promenade, where more cots are lined\nup under darkened concession stands. It is quieter out here. A woman\nsits alone in an island of empty cots, near a single stall \u201cfamily\nbathroom,\u201d and when Noah meets her eyes, they both smile,\nrecognizing in each other an instant kind of home.<\/p>

Elena\nis older than Noah  \u2014 mid-forties, a dark-skinned Latina\nwith thin hair pulled into a messy bun. She wears the polo shirt and\nkhakis of a work uniform, but her sharply pointed manicure belies a\ndifferent personal style. Incredibly, only one of the mustard-colored\nacrylics has ripped off, given  \u2026 well, what-ever her\nstory is.<\/p>

Noah\u2019s\nfirst impulse is to cling to Elena like a mother, but as he takes a\nstep towards her, a family of five shoves him aside. Dad with\nshoulders like a bull, three white-blonde kids all in matching camo\npajamas. The girl\u2019s are pink.<\/p>

Fear\nsubmerges Noah\u2019s better impulses. Elena\u2019s smile fades. Are\n<\/em>they safer\ntogether? Or more of a target? Noah looks around for Abe to tell him\nwhat to do, but the ghost boy is gone.<\/p>

\u201cMaybe\nwe shouldn\u2019t  \u2014\u201d Noah starts.<\/p>

Elena\ntilts her head. As if she\u2019s read his mind, she says, \u201cUnder these\nlights? I\u2019m not passing, and neither are you, honey.\u201d She pats\nthe cot beside her. \u201cMight as well stick together.\u201d<\/p>

He\ndrops to the cot, blushing at his hesitation. He does not take off\nhis backpack. He thinks he might never take it off again.<\/p>

Twenty-two\nhours ago, he boarded a bus at the Red Cross staging area in Conroe.\nHe didn\u2019t manage to get much sleep on the interminable ride,\nstopping at every small town between Houston and Dallas, stalling in\nchurch parking lots until the driver would inevitably reboard and\nannounce that every shelter in the area was full.<\/p>

After\nthe day-long ride, it feels amazing to be horizontal, but he can\u2019t\nclose his eyes just yet. He scans the passing faces  \u2014\nwondering if that\u2019s Emeric with the undercut, or Sasha, beneath the\nfloodwater-mucked hair? His heart skips a beat at certain older,\nwhite folks too, for that half-second before he realizes they\u2019re\nnot his parents.<\/p>

The\ncots around Noah and Elena remain empty for a long time. Maybe it\u2019s\nbecause folks don\u2019t want to sleep so near a bathroom. Maybe it\u2019s\nsomething else. Noah\u2019s never sure when to give people the benefit\nof the doubt.<\/p>

Eventually,\nan older man with a shock of white hair stops in the aisle of flowing\npeople. He\u2019s drowning in a baggy army jacket and hunched under the\nweight of an overstuffed camo backpack. His lip curls into a sneer,\nand there\u2019s no mistaking that look. Noah pretends to check the\nscreen of his battery-dead phone, and the top of his head grows hot,\nas if the man\u2019s eyes are burning into him. It\u2019s maybe a full\nminute before the guy moves on.<\/p>

\u201cIsn\u2019t\nthat incredible,\u201d Elena says, after the man disappears around the\ncurve in the promenade, \u201cthat they can still find the energy to\nhate us, even with all this.\u201d She waves her hand elegantly.<\/p>

A\nshort while later, two white boomers in undershirts and boxers stop\nat the edge of the circle of empty cots. They bow their heads\ntogether, whisper-arguing in a way that suggests marital intimacy.\nThe taller one clutches a tiny beast, which might be a Pomeranian\nunder all that matted mud. He hisses something-something \u201cprivilege\u201d\nand something-something \u201cally.\u201d The greying blonde thinks that a\ngathering of queers in this soup of humanity, all mixed-up, all\nseparated from their bubbles of like-minded friends might be a bad\nidea. But the taller one persists, and eventually the other sighs,\nlooking up at the promenade\u2019s high ceiling, where flags printed\nwith the giant heads of the Dallas Mavericks look down on them like\ngrinning gods.<\/p>

David\nand Michael introduce themselves with bourgeois cheer, like new\nhomeowners moving into a gated community, and claim the cots in front\nof Elena and Noah. The stream of humanity slows to a trickle, as the\nlast of the cots are claimed. A few more queer-seeming people set\ndown nearby. Two white women with a snarling Maine Coon in a cat\ncarrier. A black woman with a taper fade takes the cot next to\nElena\u2019s and promptly falls asleep beneath a mylar blanket. A\n20-year-old who looks like an Instagram model spots Noah and blurts,\n\u201cThank fucking god, my people!\u201d\n<\/em>and dumps a few\ntote bags onto the cot next to Noah\u2019s. \u201cMalone, they\/them,\u201d\nthey say, stretching out a hand.<\/p>

Malone\nhas a fall of black-to-seafoam hair and eyeliner that\u2019s\nmiraculously unsmudged. By the end of the night, Noah will learn that\nMalone is nineteen years old, half-white, half-Vietnamese, their\nfavorite band is the Coathangers, and they\u2019re pre-med at Houston\nCommunity College  \u2014 planning to grow up to be an\nabortion provider.<\/p>

For\nnow, their outstretched wrist hovers in front of Noah, stacked with\nacrylic-bead bracelets in the colors of half-a-dozen queer flags, but\nNoah can\u2019t remember what any of them mean. It\u2019s been a day and a\nhalf since he woke up to the end of the world, and suddenly he can\u2019t\nremember who or what he\u2019s supposed to be, and why any of it ever\nmattered. \u201cSorry, I\u2019m  \u2026 tired,\u201d he stammers.<\/p>

\u201cHi,\ntired,\u201d Malone chirps, pumping his hand vigorously. Noah coughs a\nlaugh, and it\u2019s a relief. He didn\u2019t know he was still capable of\nlaughter.<\/p>

\u201cSorry.\nI\u2019m Noah,\u201d he says. \u201cHe\/him.\u201d<\/p>

\u201cOh my god, your name\u2019s really Noah<\/em>?\u201d They say with a wry grin. \u201cThat\u2019s a little on-the-nose, isn\u2019t it? This is all your fault, huh?\u201d<\/p>

Pre-Order Depart, Depart!<\/em><\/h4>
Depart, Depart! <\/strong><\/em>Paperback | $18.99 CAD<\/strong>
Release Date: September 1, 2020<\/td>		<\/td><\/tr>
Pre-ordering directly from Stelliform, you will receive a paperback printed on recycled paper. At this time, paperbacks ordered from other sources such as Amazon are not printed on recycled paper stock. Payment is through PayPal, in Canadian dollars.
<\/td>		\"Depart
<\/form><\/div><\/td><\/tr>
Depart, Depart! <\/strong><\/em>EPUB | $9.99 CAD<\/strong>
Release Date: September 1, 2020<\/td>		<\/td><\/tr>
Pre-ordering directly from Stelliform, you will receive a DRM-free EPUB copy of the novella on or before September 1st. Payment is through PayPal, in Canadian dollars.
<\/td>		\"Depart
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A wave of humanity flows onto the court of the Dallas Mavericks basketball arena, wearing the clothes people wear at…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"yoast_head":"\nAn Excerpt from Sim Kern's Depart, Depart! ⋆ Stelliform Press<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"A preview excerpt of Sim Kern's cli-fi horror novella, DEPART, DEPART! and links to order the book which will be published on September 1, 2020.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.stelliform.press\/index.php\/depart-depart-excerpt\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"An Excerpt from Sim Kern's Depart, Depart! 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