Tuesday, May 18, 2010

I am Eaten by the Screen

The screen had been flashing warnings of a storm, and although the set had been muted, the glistenable hum winded itself to a click as the power went out. The buzzing of flies persisted in the dark. I had spilled chocolate milk on my list of names, and as I stood up to find matches or a flashlight, I launched my fork onto the floor in front of me, spilling my cardboard tray. I stepped on a cold pea, and it exploded. There are four candles, birthday candles, on a stale quarter of a cake in the sink. It's not my birthday. I light three of the candles and get my list of names. There are four women, and two men. And there is a name that could belong to either a man or a woman, I'm not sure. I heard the rain on porch but I couldn't see the fine grained drops in the darkness. I fold my list into my back pocket and get the keys to my truck.