At night, Misha dreamt of being a witch.
In a bar where a flickering cocktail sign lends respite to weary travellers, a man sits and he watches his world burn.
Lily builds mazes in her dreams.
I watched her fall the first time.
The soccer ball bounced on the clay field and rose into the air, fragments of yellow-red earth booming and dispersing before dissolving under the fading orange light projected by a cheerless bulb.
The last time I struck a match, I lit the sky on fire. Up, up, up galloped the pillows of smoke, stacked on top of each other like scorched marshmallows.
Marisol scrolls through the appointment list and marks the scheduled patients who have checked in.
Shrieking wails, carried by the churning wind above, deafens me as the darkness steals my sight.
Wandering endless bleached earth.
I bought one bagel to share. It is still warm in the paper bag.