pelagialex
I chose a balloon instead of five sour keys. The balloon would not alter my blood sugar, and would provide a longer-lasting entertainment. I drew a face on my new prize. Two beady eyes and a lugubrious mustache of undeniable droopiness.
The woman in her chair called for cornrows. A steady collection of braided hair to crown her scalpy-smelling head. Yet it was hard for the hair dresser to keep track of each row as she daydreamed of places beyond the salon.
She was a regular salt-flirt. Her hypotension swung into staggeringly high levels after nearly every dinner outing, and her fondness for the savoury was causing irreparable damage to her body -- particularly the ham and cheese croissants she consumed on the morning train.
I gave birth to a maze. It grew from my chest, like a twisted snake. A snake that I entered. Its inside was hollow and sounded tinny. The world outside echoed, like an iron dome.
She found butterflies in the coffin they would use to bury her sister. Four butterflies, each glowing effervescently, like bubbles in beer.