A girl with black hair and no one
to talk to scribbles furiously in her
notebook trying to coerce movement
from the lines on the paper by flipping
quickly through the pages. It works well
after a few tries and the loosely sketched
dragon devours the more detailed cow
in the field, leaving puddles of colorless
blood in its wake.
She’s an adult now, that girl, and her Mom
is making her check her chest for lumps
because it runs in the family and her aunt
passed away from it a year before. She finds
nothing and is not surprised. She pulls her sweater
back on and returns to her room where she is
painting a scene of an old man with an eye patch
stabbing himself with a curved knife in front of a
burning house. People had been asking her for
days what it was supposed to mean, but even she wasn’t
sure. Her best guess was it had something to do with
destroying the past, but even that seemed a bit vague.
When it was finished she gave it to her friend from
school as a gift, and he hung it in his living room
where it stayed for years until he moved. Every time
she would visit they would talk about what the image
was supposed to mean, and the closest they ever got
was nothing.

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