Meltdown The soft apologetic grey of evening squeezes me out from where I’ve sat so long safe from prying minds but close to the shimmering edge. A gaunt and prowling night cat, I stalk these polished streets alone, meeting the face of my fear in each gleaming surface. I cringe from the masses of promised life that hunt in packs on every side; I rush back home where my mental bags are ready and waiting by the door. I’m still not sure I’m even really here and I think that someone’s moved my things around, but my shadow nods and waves politely as it always does. The same old vulture swoops low to tear me up by the roots and beats its bloody wings around my head while it pours its sickly sweet taste in my mouth. I sip each day from a gritty cup; outside they are many, in here I am one. S.C. Flynn
23
