again

Hitting her again.

Like a blindside, but with some warning, because it was a regular thing, an irregularly occurring thing. Sometimes like ice water tossed at her other times like fire shoved down her throat. It was just that extreme and just that shocking.

Born with it she thinks, this ability, but others just thought she was bruised, internally, like a neglected Macintosh left to shrivel in the sun.

What was it this time that brought it on? a look? a tone? a scribbled word on a sticky pad, stuck to the fridge?

Everything was a sticky pad, sticking to her like fly tape. And just as messy, only she couldn’t throw herself away, or perhaps she could, there were bridges, and pink pills and firearms in the state of Texas, and heck, even the swamp out her back door but then she would be no different than fly tape, and although they were cousins, they weren’t blood brothers.

It would pass anyway, it always did, and then she’d have nothing left but regret and embarrassment for ever telling him she could talk to trees.