Make a prize appear in the brightest sunlight / Close yr doors and windows carefully / Stain yr witches’ clothes bright red / Speak beneath trees.
May woke and licked her lips, first thing, tasting salt on her tongue and tasting yellow in her eyes. The sheet was slipped between her big toe and her little ones. She pulled it straight and crumpled out of the snow-like layers to stand tenderly on the cold and rough wood floor.
I’m calling out/ You don’t, can’t hear it / These timbers sing in alternating timbres / We hear only ever what we want.
Gait was feeling grey upon waking. Nothing like the morning before yesterday. Blue auras had filled the library to the brim. Gait was going to have to sift through the troubles of others until the first sopranos came in for the morning lessons. Would the room even be clear by then?
There was never a way to be sure. Gait lifted the lid of the box of music and selected a few poems to practice. Maybe teach, if it seemed like the kind of thing others would be into.
Gait opened the windows to let light and air in. An unexpected moth fluttered in, wafted above the age eaten books, drifted through the door jamb, and settled inside the kitchen on the rim of a jar of plum jam. As if cuing the rest of the day to occur, just then, the door opened and in came the sopranos, first and seconds together.
Gait was ill-prepared.
A micro-flash fiction written by Ori + Rei over the span of, possibly, five minutes.