mazeways

gray horizons stretch to infinity and the sparse fog below the forest canopy lingers at the far dip in the trail. soggy autumn leaves are plastered to the ground on a narrow pathway wide enough for only one body at a time. you’re sitting on the edge of a dirty, overturned refrigerator covered in fine, bright green lichens. she sits next to you and lights a glass pipe packed with weed.

her long, floppy ears stick out of her hat and down her back above her hair. the ash stain on her blouse has probably been there for about a year now, but this is the only one she wears when she's free to do so. she passes you the pipe.

her dad would kill her if he found out she was smoking. the trail at the edge of the property line is about half a mile from the house. he won't come out here.

a rolling cloud of white smoke spills out from between her lips and cascades into the open air, diffusing in curls and spirals. you want something so badly. you have no idea what it is.

small, gray birds dart through the blackberry bushes. a truck roars down an empty mountain highway a long ways away. low sheets of fog crawl like glaciers between peaks and descend on the valleys, favoring the streams, clinging to them between the firs. you know you're missing something vital. you won't know what it is for years to come.

you study her and she offers a slight smile.

what was her name?

{ quit mazeway }