Dangerous Compassions

mutant tree last day

My neighbor signs her name so big on the sign-in sheet that the loops of her letters fill half the space for my name. I print in tiny letters in an attempt to make her feel guilty.

I cut the largest acceptable cheesecake slice and went outside to eat my beautiful plain cheesecake in the fresh, breezy peace of outdoor air, beneath the mutant tree itself.

Later, it was getting down to the wire. The room was hot, and everyone was so sick of learning about the poor hygine of the CBEST takers, who had been inspired by prompt number two to tell terrible facts about nail biting in particular.

The florescent lights were buzzing with artificiality. The scorers were restless and done playing the game called Earning Pocket Money for my Trip to Iceland. They rustled newspapers and muttered sarcastically. We all wanted out.

The new building’s going to have windows. I aced my final recalibration and think everyone is done with me being new and have accepted that my name will never roll off the tongue. In fact, my name will be irrelevant forever. It’s my Friday night, but nobody knows it.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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