Gold

So what do you say when one word could end the world? And where do you look when one look can unmake what you see? When every glance falls on some fly-wing thin thing that winks away, out of the world, just before you can really tell what it is. What do you touch when everything will just turn to gold and heavily fall, useless. Move your feet; learn to eat gold. Walk through the world mute, blindfolded; golden gloves imprisoning you, weighing your arms. Learn to stop your ears to the friend-sounding calls of the others begging you to touch something of theirs, anything. And the growing mob then, finally, stealing your gloves until the first one brushes your thumb and is cast eternally as the thief: golden man holding golden glove. As you stop moving and wait. Thinking I may have to open my eyes just this once, just for as long as it takes. Until after the rushing pause you hear the people crashing in, taking the golden man away to wherever, to maybe satisfy their greed for a day.

Until there is only one left and you can just hear the shifty step. Your neck pricks with the animal knowledge that you are seen.

“Hi.” she says. She sounds little.

“Say something.” she says.

“Hi.” you say.

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