He told me the ceiling was abuzz, described a scarf writhing, and explained that everything slithered because a switch had been flipped to the ‘on’ position.
I was young.
I followed him in, and witnessed blood racing through veins – my veins – too narrow to possibly confine this pounding rush. Yet they did. My whole body coursed in some brilliance of bursting color and flashing through me and vibrating so that the Back Catalogue on my wall was alive in stippled rainbow technicolor.
It didn’t go all at once. It faded as sunlight toward dusk. And now it is dark.
For more flashes prompted by this week’s photo, and to learn more about flash fiction, visit Madison Woods and explore.