The front door closes with a soft latch, but Finn isn’t sure if he hears it or it’s his paranoia. In the living room, all is still and silent and dark, blankets holding the daylight back like a dam. Sunlight. Golden hour cuts its way through a heroin haze and into the filthy apartment. Each gap in the blankets that cover the windows is a yellow blade of glowing hot light to Finn’s vision. He squints at them, bleary eyed and confused. Something has brought him out of his stupor. A sound? Footsteps in the hallway conjure up blurry images of someone standing before him. Hands on hips say disapproval, crooked frown says concern. The blurring swirls and pulses, unliquifying into the face of his sister, Mary. She sits down on the edge of the couch. Dust plumes up in contrails off the cushion, twisting up into the blades of sun. Smoke signals. SOS. Mary looks at the rig and the burnt spoon and the plastic lighter on the coffee table. The flimsy green lighter sits in the overlap between two coffee cup stains, a Venn diagram of his life and Mary’s. He smiles at her lazily and says hey. He can see her face swim in and out of view. Nose says it smells, eyes say she might cry.
•Unliquifying•
Tres nice, Keith!