Slipping through the cooler
I am water today, sliding into a home through the reedy natural smelling cooler pad on a swamp cooler in the desert.
The home is clean, neat, comfortable with niches for Indian pottery but containing bright glass sculptures instead. Pink adobe curved doorways, lots of windows. A sad dark figure stood at the desk to one side. Still, stareing into nothingness.
Suddenly I was terrified.
I slipped out through the fan above the stove, the soot puffing out of the little chimny before my exit and following me too. Anyone watching might have worried about fire.
I glimpsed the dark sad one through the window and thought I might have seen the glint of gun metal in the hand, the raising of the arm, the pop. But I fled too fast to be sure, terror escalating into panic.
The home is clean, neat, comfortable with niches for Indian pottery but containing bright glass sculptures instead. Pink adobe curved doorways, lots of windows. A sad dark figure stood at the desk to one side. Still, stareing into nothingness.
Suddenly I was terrified.
I slipped out through the fan above the stove, the soot puffing out of the little chimny before my exit and following me too. Anyone watching might have worried about fire.
I glimpsed the dark sad one through the window and thought I might have seen the glint of gun metal in the hand, the raising of the arm, the pop. But I fled too fast to be sure, terror escalating into panic.
posted by Echo @ 8:46 PM
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