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Queen of the World “That’s what I thought.” She stares at a tree or the feral cats fighting beneath it. Her fingers tap. “I could tell.”   A slashed heart, recently wounded, begins to pucker and heal and scar. “I’m so happy!” She lights a cigarette, looks sideways at the door. Her toes dance. “I’d hoped it’d end.”   A bruised friendship, wrinkled, but energetic, is severed; the ends cauterized. “He wants to be angry.” She crosses her legs, and her arms over her shirt. Her lip inches out. “I’m not saying anything.”   A roommate, old enough to know better sick of silence, ignites, stands, and leaves. “Of course you are.” She leans back in her tarnished throne and stubs the cigarette. Her eyelids close. “I knew that.” back to the archives All work on this site (writing and illustrations) are copyright 2003, Iz Church

Archives | About DnC | Biography | Elsewhere | Email me