The rope marks on her skin were like smoke, barely seen across the breakfast table. His breath quickened with the memory of her submission.
One night they learned how to fly away from their bodies. Traveling far, they easily forgot the way home. Oh, the places they go.
Charlotte knew she’d arrived in true Utopia. Printed in white block letters underneath the WELCOME sign was, POPULATION: 1.
“You keep leaving. I can’t trust you.” I stared out the window. My mother lowered her newspaper. “Don’t talk to the snow. It isn’t healthy.”
The pilot stares into the cloudscape beyond the flight deck and sees his childhood dog run in front of the plane. He doesn’t want to hit it.
She rolls the glass in her hand, ice shards swimming in gin, and promises herself and God: just two more drinks tonight.