I look towards the door. I think of her.
I think back to the drawer, that little piece of paper.
Something like reality. Grainy and full of pulsating life –
buzzing flies, little black and white stars; nestled among the curling papers.
Then he closes the drawer, before I can make out the full word.
And about those words. euryewreyrsjdhg. Wait, what again?
I don’t get it. I open my mouth. Her face turns stormy.
Then she turns back towards the windows.
I wish he would tell me. I can’t read what’s between those eyes.
I peer into the sinkhole. But the noodle is gone.
© Zelda Reville