Masks of Fire

“Fear breathes life into these weary bones …” You rifle through the kitchen drawers, shaking your rump to the croaking tunes. You used to be a fine singer; now, you’re forever coughing up fur balls laced with grit. Doesn’t help that you’ve lost all your real teeth.

Lily, your sarcasm-queen granddaughter, catches you mid rump swing. “Shake it, Grandma!”

You shake harder, faster. Each shake propels you further from today. From reality.

“Windy out. Leaving soon?”

You squeeze his gold locket. Smooth surfaces reveal your tears. Rump slackens. Exhilaration fades. “Yes, dear,” you say as you scan the sapphire sky. “Let’s get Grandpa’s dragon kite flying.”


Copyright © 2015 by Emily Clayton
Originally appeared on Micro Bookends:

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