#ofunderworldisms

             Today it feels like summer. There’s that sandy-colored light fading late into the evening that usually shines this time of year, and the air is warm, ripe with sweetness, and the buzz of insects. Wind moves lightly in the grass as Sally kneels in the sunstruck patch. The dark, emerald green leaves of the strawberry plants glimmer low against the earth at her feet. There are mosquitoes circling in the air above, but Sally barely notices. She picks each individual fruit, filling up her wicker basket. She smiles at Gillian, then she’s off. Black hair waves behind Sally’s form when she’s finally done and running back to the house, entering through the kitchen and letting the screen door slam behind her.

             The dining room is dim. With the damask curtains drawn, only the amber pools cast from lamps penetrate. The light pattering of Sally’s bare feet slows as she takes notice of another standing in the sunroom. So many women come inside their house. Some are lost. Some are so dangerous they are practically combustible     –––––    so feverish and wanting for a love one strike of a sulfurous match will set them aflame. This stranger looks like none of those women. Sally’s inclined to be polite.     ❛       Hello.     ❜