Creative Writing Editor
In a flash, we are blind. Our eyes are open and staring, flushed with light, as a sheet of white is flung over the whole world. Midstep we pause, gripping the back of each others’ necks to keep our balance. Then it is over. The night is night again and the bridge rises before us. We wander towards it and away from each other so that we can all walk alone. When I slide under the bridge, they are far behind and I follow the curving tunnel with hands outstretched. I trail my fingers on the edges of our kingdom and wonder if we'll ever leave this place. Even when we pass the house, on those empty nights, and continue on the road, we make it past the smoke to the buildings on the other side only to see that they are clear as spring water. The moon illuminates the stone like glow worms and our fingers leave marks, dark stains that reveal us, even now. But tonight we head home. The tunnel opens up and I sprint the last little stretch. Their footsteps echo behind me and I pretend I can outrun them. Eyes closed, dry dirt powdering the air, I zip past neighbouring houses and midnight gnats to the wide back porch. I fling myself up the stairs, slowing at the screen door to silence my steps. I walk through with the horde at my back.