“Hey, Bree,” a voice yelled from across the street.

It was Myra. A nice person, but too verbose.

“Guess what, I got a job at Smith & Smith. I start next Monday. Isn’t
that great! I can’t wait until I tell my boyfriend Hank. He’ll be so
excited. Do you want to get coffee? I could really use a cup.”

“Got to go, Myra. Good luck.”

“Are you sure you don’t want…”

“I’m, Tianna. Sit.”

Tianna smoothed her fingers across his palm. “You will be the cause of a terrible accident.”

Upset, Timothy stormed out and crossed the street when he heard a woman’s voice.

“Hey, you didn’t pay me!”

He turned and then a car came to a screeching halt, but not before hitting Tianna.

A small boy of no older than twelve maneuvered gracefully on a wave that would have had him running for the safety of the beach. A group of people enthusiastically cheered and clapped for the boy, who had a large grin on his face and pumped his fist in the air.

Toppling down from heaven, a hard blessing; we stood in its shadow and begged it to stop. But no ears heard us; they were shut tight to our prayers.

It wasn’t such disturbance of leaf and stalk that might herald the man’s return, but more woodlandy – some creature curious about the blood…his blood.

Gauging the effort required, he summoned what energy remained and thrust.

His right arm collapsed, the incline rolling him onto his back.

The unobstructed air was invigorating. He’d never appreciated that before. He coughed half way through a breath, spluttering blood.

He managed to avoid choking. He might just survive–

Now he could see the man hadn’t left at all.

The scriptures were placed into five stacks, each of which was enclosed between two layers of tanned sheepskin. Each stack was then rolled tightly so as to prevent air from reaching inside. The five rolls were stored in an iron chest and covered with cotton and dried cayenne to repel pests.

Two shadows, a woman and her child. She reaches down, ruffling the boy’s hair. That’s when the boy skips off the road, slipping from the woman’s hold. He sinks into the marshland, cries out and is submerged completely.

You rush forward and grasp the child.

It is not a child. Eyes roll back into the skull then flick forwards. Slight hands clamp tight.

“We’re sorry,” the woman murmurs.

Timothy pulled out his wallet. “A dozen red roses, please.”

“Big night, sir,” the cashier asked.

“I’m proposing to my girlfriend,” Timothy answered while fumbling for change.

“Good luck, to you.”

“Thanks.”

No escape by that plaited ladder. It is a sucking wick, a path to punishment above in the glass panopticon, where they burn me alive.

With my light, without their night, those heedless animals cook and sing and flirt, while I, burning, dwindle and darken the glass.

I walk outside into the fresh air, taking deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling. I can’t stand the musty air in hospitals. My cell rings distracting me from my happy moment and I answer it.

“Hey, Charlie, I heard you’re discharged today.”

“Yeah, I’m on my way home as we speak.”

As I’m crossing the street, I walk straight into an oncoming car. People gather around me as I’m on the ground unable to move.