We ran through the underground mall. You were holding on to my hand...why can I never see you, even though I know you are always the same?
Running out of
oxygen. Please, I need to find an
exit. I feel the panic rising in me like
sick. You worry me with your
labored breathing. Wading through piles of frothy
prom dresses: fuschia,
seafoam, aquamarine.
The mannequins move when we're not looking. Cages of plastic arms.
You cried to me, oh god your shoes, your feet. The shoelaces wriggled, shooting up my legs. They melted into me like jellyfish tentacles. I struggled to get the shoes off, not wanting to look at what I knew would be ruined stumps of melted wax, ending at the ankle...