"window" by Emily Lai

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.