by R.S. Bohn
The lady's slipper bulged, drooped, and out he fell, damp and curled.
He ended his hibernation always thus, in pink petals newly emerged from curving green stems, themselves freshly pushed out of the dark earth.
Standing, he brushed specks of snow from his knees. The cobwebs of Winter's soul surrounded him: melting ice and patches of white.
Spring stepped from shadows into the sun and banished them.
Behind him, a cold sigh on his neck.
"Not another minute? Or three?"
Spring smiled. "Half a minute, no more."
Winter slipped cool hands beneath Spring's tunic.
Spring shivered, and counted the seconds.
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:
Interlude is part of 101 Fiction issue 3.