I get tired of my body. I start to send it outside. I start to send it outside without me. One night it goes out and doesn’t come back.

Your mentor once described a Bridge as being close to sacred. Inhale against the pull of time, they said. Let past, present, and future flood your molecules.

They’d done a good job on the skin, hair, teeth, nails, but there was something about my eyes. A missing depth. That’s how you put it to the priest.

It’s been a month since Sally passed away. The house is quiet without her laughter, the pitter-patter of her feet. There is nothing, nothing, nothing—an emptiness filling every room and everyone.

The demon rears on its splayed legs and slaps its naked thighs, leering as it talks shit at you with its long, forked tongue. So listen, and listen good: