Suspension
She is vehemently redeemed. For what? She cannot explain. There is a salamander sitting on her window sill, soaking up sun like a tiny, phosphorescent sponge. When she was eighty, there was a time when she wouldn’t have poked at him with the brightly colored edge of her fingernail. Now she is less tolerant. She flicks him over the ledge, peeks over the side and watches him fly toward the bushes, tail flagellating about; eyes, she is certain, protruding out of his head with heightened concern. Free fall, that was what it was. And what was this feeling? Completely asinine.
Grafting
In the west the sky turns purple, a bruise tied round with scarves of white clouds that help dull the ache of it, the car picks up momentum and his foot just can’t lift from the gas pedal. He takes a second to glance over at the woman sitting beside him. The g-force sends her tense , shattered against the seat. Her face shows nothing as they spiral out in the middle of anywhere. He opposes gravity, turns to her as they hit 90 and barrel off the ledge.
“I am… so sorry.”
Somewhere, in the black, a tea kettle whistles.
Thumbelina in a Matchbox
Ironically, it’s not very cold in here… maybe I’m numb. The thing sealed itself, and I’m not sure how to get out. I’ve tried flailing, but there isn’t enough space to build any kind of opposing force to the inside wall. I’m wearing pink satin pumps and a bridesmaid’s dress, so when I kick at the lid, my heel snaps off and I can feel the shock vibrate up my leg into the taffeta. The air is stale and I can smell my own perfume, it is grotesque. On the lid of the box, refrigerator magnets read “This End Up”.
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