Somnambulance
Sometimes in the half-trance of Ambien and Kafka, I stumble into mirrors and remember you, the cognac of your voice, three green swallows on your arm. We were on a train. The world brings us into certain orbits, you said. Be ready. Together we looked through a book of weather. Storm clouds, cumulus, ice storm. We were both afraid. That night you nightmared beside me, the dark calligraphy of hair on your pillow. Your eyes moved behind their lids like rodents in their deathtraps. In the morning, we showered together, water pooling over scars. Naked in a world of glass.
Ryan Griffith‘s work has appeared in Best Microfiction and The Wigleaf Top 50 Short Fictions.
Photo Credit: The Silent Infinite
Fantastic word choice here
Hauntingly evocative piece, perfect within 100 words, and yet I want to know more.