by RICHARD LEISE
IMG_0418 by Abigail Batchelder | Flickr
A toddler falls from a balcony. It takes a moment—there is no commotion, no gathering crowd; there is, after looking up, no sound—but in time (you slowly walk closer until, incredibly, you make out impossible human features, a leg uncertainly angled) you realize that the girl isn’t a garbage bag, that she isn’t a pile of clothing and that, somehow, there, on the sidewalk, like a cat struck by a car, is a child, and not just any child, but that little girl who waves every morning on your walk to work.
That she’s alive? This doesn’t cross your mind.
Escape From Spiderhead
George Saunders / The New Yorker
Behind the Hand - Keoni Cabral- Flickr
© Intrinsick 2015-2020