previous / next

  • Washing my hair in an enormous shower. Reversed from my own, the curtain on the wrong side, I didn't know where anything was. I turned off the water, stood shivering, looked at my hands. Thick white paste covering them. I checked the mirror - my head was caked with the stuff. Conditioner that hadn't fully rinsed out. I turned the water back on, tried to scrub it away, but it just got thicker and thicker, covering my hair in glue.

  • They'd stolen me from my tribe. Their tribe was poor, hungry, had the same old crops everybody else had. The woman wasn't very nice to me but her daughter was. For her sake, I showed them how to make beer out of their beans and barley. We built a huge apparatus in the trees. Cook them together, stir them, filter, pass the mixture through the grinder, filter again through charcoal. The only one not afraid to sit up in the trees was Johnny Depp, who wore a suit and top hat. He didn't say much to anyone. To me he gave unattached fragments, about history and colors, but I knew what he really meant. He was sweet. Time lapse through day 10 of the beer-making venture, month 3, month 7. I had saved the tribe from ruin. Johnny had come down to the ground, which was nice, I didn't have to shout up or be blinded by the glare when talking to him. I was looking through a little girl's dollhouse. She was dead now. All the furniture was intact, and the tiny drawers in nightstands, dressers, held clues as to who she had been. A folded note. A ring. She'd had the same birthstone as me. I put it on. When he saw the ring on my finger, Johnny calmed down. We were quiet, both looking at it. I raised my eyes to his. "Would you like to get married?" I thought it over. "Sure."

Log in or registerto write something here or to contact authors.