Sun’s going down – the shadows press in and she wonders again what’s out in the dark. What’s out there? Shadows, nightmares, old starched men’s shirts.
Kleenex in her pocket. She rubs edges with her fingers. Cold fingers, like the winds of winter bite at the tips. She feels the nails, they’re cracked.
Where’s she going? No clue. Something’s gotta happen now – introduce an animal maybe. Let’s add an animal.
The bushes rustle, and out hops a kangaroo. You know you love it. The kangaroo hops, flips and turns into itself. She drops her grip on the Kleenex – she has to.
Alright, tell me what else the kangaroo does.
He hops into the distance maybe? I don’t know – what else do kangaroos do?
I don’t know, depends on what kind of a story we’re writing.
He encounters a branch, and it drips, drips, drips – not breathing … 1…2…3…breathing. He licks the branch. Licks it again after a second, and the girl doesn’t know what to do.
What does she do?
What does she do?
Poke it?
Poke what?
The kangaroo.
Ok. It blinks – big soft eyes –
No, poke it – it’s life!
No!
What? It’s a good ending.
* This little scribble brought to you though the joint efforts of Kate and Daria - yep, we have no idea either.
