Flying
Catching Cars
“What would we be doing if we knew each other?”
This time, it is her voice that breaks the silence; I am pleased. I find it difficult to make any conversation without feeling awkward, although our shared silences are usually very engaging.
We are in a car, as per usual, and it is tumbling sickeningly in midair after a violent collision. I cannot help but think of the owner, who will probably end up as one of us. This blue-green girl with smiling eyes has very strange ways.
“We’d be doing something we actually like doing, unless you really do like catching strange cars and sitting in them. We wouldn’t be in a flying car with a dying man; also, we’d be using our names,” I returned with a smile, trying my best to hide my dizziness. I never did like flying, even in the usual way.
She laughs, a tinkling sound of those silver bells that represent the season so often; and I am home, sitting in a bare kitchen.
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