"window" by Emily Lai

By: Reckoner Staff |


I look left. I look right.

Nothing makes sense, it seems so empty.

It seems like the time I crawled out of the womb.

Dark. Damp. Strangely comforting.

I take a breath, and it quickly fades.

I try again to no avail.

How can I be alive with no air?

I wonder, and ponder some more.

That’s right, try pinching your arm, they said.

You’ll see if you’re awake, they said.

I raise my fingers.

Thumb. Index.

And push them together.

Nothing.

I look up at the sky, the vast darkness of it all.

And count the stars.

It is an easy task.

There are none.

Finally I hear a noise, it sounds like a screech.

A seagull? Crow?

My mind eludes me again.

Yet I feel safe.

Then comes the smell, and it all comes back.

A barbecue, with juicy ribs

steaks

and chicken wings.

How could I forget those chicken wings?

That crispy skin

tender flesh

and the grinding tooth against bone.

The dream continues and I begin to fly.

Through a world of chicken wings

I reach out for one

and just miss.

For I am not flying anymore.

I hit something. The ground, or the ceiling?

The sky, or the earth?

My mind eludes me again.

Then without pause I am in the air again.

Flying through the endless sky

like an angel, my skirt fluttering in the wind.

Into the depths of Hell I fly,

Lava licking at my gaudy tassels.

Made with care, only to be dashed into the everlasting depths.

Deeper into the inferno I go,

the fire screams at my skin

and devours me whole.

But it doesn’t hurt.

It smells.

Not of brimstone, but of

chloroform.

Suddenly, everything is clear.

I turn left, and am overjoyed.

Through the wrought iron window stands

the endless sky, and the freedom it brings.

For the day I have become an adult has arrived.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Reckoner Staff

No bio available