Free-Fall Forward
She whispered it aloud. Her voice. Lower, gruffer.
She whispered it aloud. Her voice. Lower, gruffer.
Forever now. Somehow that made it matter less.
Mirror. Signal. Breathe.
Between panes of glass, choice slips away.
Every shot taken draws the forest closer.
Vanilla musk. She never changes.
Nothing but a trail of broken bone and rotten flesh.
‘Tonight will be perfect’, she thought, snipping an errant shoot and placing the bonsai tree on the table’s centre.
Lucy trembled…
Two guys walk into a bar; the third one ducks.
She’s a smoke show.
So, who the fiddler’s flying fig decided Mars needed alligators?