I remember the smell of artificial sugar and sweat. I remember the sound of our sneakers slipping along linoleum tile like the high pitched screams of little ghosts. I remember squeezing the wooden handle of my ice cream spatula and searching for my reflection in its silver blade.
Quiet came as quickly as the consequences of Gravity, the ancient god each of us obeys with every day we’re tethered to Earth. This god was now responsible for drawing the blood out of a small slit in Jack’s bearded neck and soaking the collar of his chambray button down shirt. This god was responsible for the booming thump that was his body hitting the floor. Yes. That is what happened. Gravity made Jack lie at my feet despite the title he wore.
I’d never seen Jack so quiet and that delighted me most. I snuck out of the ice cream parlor as a tarantula. The only witnesses were the ghosts buzzing at my feet like flies. Their ovation for my act was wordless, wings humming lower than any human ear could hear, as I crawled through the streets of this backwards town and disappeared between the trees in the silver glade.