It was pitch black where I was last night.

It was clear out, but not a star twinkled in my sky. The moon howled, wide-mouthed, as if in pain. I sat.

I was sitting vigil, mind you. My knees knocked and my lungs cried. My eyes were peeled open like two old oranges, the tender inner flesh exposed and sour. My breath rattled stale like the breeze through an old house, or like the aluminum inside of a drifting potato chip bag. My nails were chewed cardboard: Handle With Care.

I stared out the window.

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The wind whistled a little through the shutters. My mind was a cootie catcher, R-E-D, B-L-U-E, G-R-E-E-N, 4, 3, 2, 1. Crayon stripes flitted between my eyes. I was cross-eyed hanging upside-down. My fingers were playing cards, toes were dice.

My eyes were marbles in the grass.

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Someone was at the door.

Their feet were like alley cats. This wasn't their alley to prowl. I hissed. I hid in a garbage can. They approached. I hissed again. They lifted off the lid.

I sighed.

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She waited on me. I was dancing on a limb, staring up at the sky. She was waiting for me to jump. I shivered out of my shell, spread my wings. I jumped.

And flew.