One of the Dummies at Night
He slept in the tinder box his master made, and oak grain governed the dreaming— his left eye clouded over, he closed the other and saw mild applause in his future. His bed sat at a crevice edge, pure pitch below, and a cold wind slowed the senses, rising from who knows where. Later his mind became its pin, eschewed dowels and string and leapt into the dark. The fall was pleasurable, apt: there were no voices in the breeze, no speeches to open his mouth.
Copyright © 2012 by Gibson Fay-LeBlanc. Used with permission of the author.