The gymnast placed her feet just so and lifted up on her toes. She took a breath and began her routine: Seven running steps, handspring, back handspring, full twisting forward flip, unsteady landing, disappointment, demotion, general disapproval, fight with parents, depression, broken curfew, shot, shot, cigarette, pint, cigarette, pint, shot, cigarette, new boyfriend, moving out, fight with new boyfriend, mornings that begin at noon, Facebook, couch, kitchen, Twitter, online shopping, pirouette, cheese pizza baguette, Nicorette, daytime TV, one cat, two cats, three cats, all of whom honor the perilous unspoken agreement to say nothing about the stifling weight of the air, stacked high with US Weeklys and other people’s expectations.
Wrap me in pancake and set me in the ground. Trace my lips with broken blueberries. Pass the thumb-trigger teardrop dispenser. Fill every gap in my casket with maple syrup. Think not of me, but of the brief pleasing mystery—how syrup ribbons from a glass and melts back into memory on the other side.
David lives in Seattle, Washington. His fiction has been broadcast on National Public Radio, published in Best American Nonrequired Reading and is forthcoming in Matchbook, Lost Balloon, Atticus Review and ZYZZYVA. He has been kicked out of every casino in Las Vegas.
V Holeček is an American artist of Czech-descent working in drawings and paintings. His art is rooted in dark surrealism. He has exhibited his work in numerous group exhibitions. His work can be found in several private collections around the world, and he has worked for small film projects.