by Jon Pelletier

Created on: October 15, 2009

They separated our minds when we left. She said to me in that calm, seductive, matter of fact way that made me grow on her. I uprooted myself and crawled across the hardwood floor. I believe she was reading the gospel. Her blue hair was wild and unnecessary as she paced back and forth along the far wall. My pink vase is pastel and vague on the table across the room. The scuffed hardwood floor is running into the wall at oddly placed ninety-degree angles. The dull green walls fray my vision.

Come back here! She grabs for my dirty anchors, as I drag them across the floor. I manage to get just barely out of her reach and hide behind the armchair. The golden sinews decorating the purple fabric are breathtaking. I begin to search for a way out of this home. I crawl along the wall hoping she will lapse aimlessly into the TV once again, in which case I could make my daring escape.

But no, she is at the couch tearing at the pillows and blankets and throwing them wildly in the air. She screams, Where are you? In the name of God, I hate you! Get back here! Where are you? and rummages through the drawer.

I crawl behind the couch and try to head for the vent. Slowly I drag my uprooted strands across the shape of the carpet, with pieces of dirt long left behind me. I think if I get to the grate I can get to the floor below me, and maybe outside from there.

The woman is calm now, staring into her TV and crying. She smiles, looks to her left and spots me. I'm glad I got out of that one alive, and smiles. We all revert to a life of crime in the end, and we face these people every day. They just can be them. Walking around, knowing what they know, doing their important things, big cars, fancy houses and regular every day things, too.

I stand up, all but six inches tall. My green leaves are much darker than the pale walls. I pulled an imaginary two-way radio out of my pocket and said, The red dragon on the left had finally gained on the green tortoise. I lifted my head and noted the lights she had posted now above me. Glued them with her best white glue. Good glue, I noted.

She was becoming enthralled in her book again. It gave her the kind of excitement that never let her down. The kind of imagination that she didn't need friends because she was convinced she had them. She was happy. She spoke softly to her self and then laughed frantically. She pointed at the man on TV and searched the book again.

I stood up as tall as I could. I sprinted forward and jumped. I remember carefully

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