They walk side-by-side alongside the river. They look out across the horizon of diamond ripples then up at the sun that blinds their retinas and makes them sneeze behind reeling lids of violet polka dots.
“Oh god, bless you.” He says.
“Thank you,” she chuckles. “God bless you.”
They meet then reflect in each other’s eyes as Seraphim anew as a flock of unseen Robins “tweet” melodiously; their hands morph into silver-tipped red horseshoes; their heads balloon and float into the sky.
“We just start all over.” They agree, continuing along. “Not look back.”
But the eggs in their stomachs from breakfast suddenly hatch into molting caterpillars that become a flutter of nervous butterflies; beads of salty liquid come to a rolling boil in their hands and demagnetize them. Their heads pop into ragged pieces of rubber.
“But--” She says.
“Yeah I know.” He says quickly.
A breeze snatches a red leaf from a passed tree and whirls up her strands like the snakes of Medusa and reverberates through his vocal cords as he picks the leaf from her hair.
“But I love you.” He says, presenting it like a flower.
She smiles and then pauses, small waves of unrelenting remembrances washing across her face and forming a reptilian skin over the dark gray water. The sun hurls itself toward the horizon like a Molotov cocktail and ignites the earth.
“No, you love that stupid--!” She blurts and neutralizes into a pillar of salt.
Turning round, he looks into the scorched tree at the burning angel hissing and tweeting with laughter.
--Kindra J. Ferriabough is a dilettante and; therefore, frequently confused. Some of her stuff can be seen at DOGZPLOT, Ken*Again, Unlikely Stories and Clockwise Cat.