“I’ll go
first.” He took a deep breath and adjusted his collar. His jaw flexed while he exhaled.
“Okay,” she said,
not looking up.
He didn't think
she believed him. He balled little hands
into tiny, shaking fists. Untrimmed
nails dug into his palms.
A static tickle wove its way between the
fibers of the too-big socks on his feet as he crossed the room.
Inside a drawer.
Beneath silk and
lace.
A small, handled
storm. Six capsules of lightning.
“Okay.” It was heavy in his hands. Tiny fingers against the handle and
trigger. Lips closed around a cold,
silver barrel.
“Yeah,” she still
sat there, across the room. Didn't look
up or over.
His tiny fingers
pressed against the pull and flew away.
No more mouth. No more mind.
She stood up. “Okay.
My turn.”
most pleasing...thanks for this.
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