June 2023
Shaun R. Pankoski
lilyandshaun@gmail.com
Author's Note: I held a Top Secret clearance in the Air Force, was a founding member of a Modern Dance company in San Francisco and an artist's model for over twenty years. Currently, I am a retired County worker living in Volcano, Hawaii with my cat, battling breast cancer for the second time.

Flying/Failing/Falling

Her preparations are hasty. The light is harsh and the air is attic-dry. She squints and lunges for the drapes, pulls fistfuls of fabric together to darken the room, soften the edges. The carpet crackles under her blackened feet. She kneels by the bed as if to pray, grabs the satchel wedged between the box spring and the mattress. A year ago, there'd be soft lamplight in a clean-smelling room. A small gathering with interesting people and jazz playing low in the background. She'd leave lipstick on the edge of a wine glass, leaning in and smiling. Sink back into the cushions, nodding and smiling that lipsticked smile. But not this day. This day is a hot, dirty room on the edge of an unmade bed and the only sound besides her raspy breathing is traffic whooshing outside on the interstate. There is no wine, there is no music. Her lips are cracked and bleeding. Her scent is strong and desperate. Someone is talking to her in a low monotone, repeating the steps, how to proceed with the spoon and the matches and the belt and the needle and how she must hurry. Must hurry. No dressing up tonight, no satisfied smile, no mirror, no sinking back. Just her own voice, scratching in her ear, telling her what to do, step by step, until the belt is tight and the needle is in and the blood blooms in the glass tube and she watches closely, watches the rose rise. It is the only thing in the room now. She loosens the belt and breathes the breath of someone arriving last.
©2023 Shaun R. Pankoski
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