Wednesday, June 10, 2015

Changeling

I would see her flitting out of the corner of my eye, a dancing speck, a darting insect zipping and weaving at the edge of my field of vision. Over time I started getting glimpses of her through the trees, a shadow swallowed by mist, slipping beneath the surface without releasing a single ripple. A flash, a burst, a blur. Eventually small details began to coagulate into focus: a painted fingernail, a few waxy toes, a shock of black feathers. A moonless night and she stepped from the trap, slipped out of the snare, evaded the shutter. I let the handful of blank photographs drop from my grip and gnashed and flailed and rent my garments, howling my need to catch even one real glimpse. I scalded my throat in the shower and collapsed, hitting my head on the edge of the tub. When I came to I wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror and there were her eyes, so wild and dark I could never look away.

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