A Meal for Mael

She stepped up to the counter in the middle o’ the mall with glances thrown all round. She felt as if her collar were thickening round her throat.

“¿How may I help you, sir?” said the attendant with a short tilt o’ his head. The way his bangs moved as he talked & the apple smell o’ his shampoo made her ache.

“I, uh, need to return these dresses…”

She quickly stacked 3 dresses—1 green, 1 grayish-blue, & 1 red—onto the counter. The attendant stared @ them with wide eyes for a second & then looked up @ her with sly lids. Without a word, he slid the dresses to his side & under the counter, & then slid from his side an unmarked envelope.

She took the envelope & quickened out the front, her clomping heels sounding like death nells.

She stood on the front, averting her eyes from all the passersby & checking her phone clock every second.

Then she saw it rise from the distance.

The air whirlpool.


Clothes, Letter, Maelstrom