I followed the cries deeper into the woods. “Keep talking, little girl. I’m coming,” I soothed. Her yelps bounded into the ABC song. At L, the smell of lemon cake. At S, my lantern addressed a scarlet coat. At Z, we held hands and picked zinnias for Grandmother.
Two low-flying owls hurtled toward us, so white they glittered in the fog. We heard the susurrus of their wings before talons shattered our windshield. Stunned, all we could do was let them shuttle us— faster than lightning— into our next lives.
Last night, that asshole playing Don Lockwood screamed at me: “Your stupid rain machine’s drowning out my song!”
So tonight, as he sang in the rain, I cranked the water pump to full blast and walked out. Let him turn it off.
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