by R.S. Bohn
A billion stars spread like marbles across his lap. He flicks one off; it scares the cat and crashes into the radiator. A terrible metal pinging: my heart loosening its hold in my chest.
I ask him why as he fingers another marble.
"Because you were never here when I wanted you," he says.
It's true. And as each marble marks its awful trajectory, I long to fly over them, away from my god, to another. Over a hundred glittering glass stars that mean nothing to me anymore, to a place where I'm alone, and I am my only god.
Author bio: RS lives in Detroit, where they aim for a zombie theme park. She thinks one already exists in her head. Admission is free: http://rsbohn.blogspot.com