Nyu Creative Writing Undergraduate

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the streets are walked empty tonight, room made for cold noises to roam.

outside, an ambulance tilts its horn like so much static: a white noise slighted into yellow.

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indoors, we spill into electricity like all the lights flooding in, a whirlpool of tightened strings. hands seeping into rooms with no more soft to give way. in the stretchers we’ll fall back into becoming, and remember how in reconstruction, we stitched needles into empty pieces. She could do nothing but stare in horror and fatal curiosity.

the boots down the hallway and dirt spell protection, so I tell them my name in the way tearing off rose petals sounds like a freeing. Like a possessed body it whipped and cracked and stretched farther over her garden, clumps of leaves forming a stupendous shadow that enveloped sunlight entirely.

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The bark of the plant peeled back in a sickly manner and high above and between the foliage exposed a grey, skin-like membrane that throbbed within the trunk, a heaving creature expanding outward until it stopped and the birds hummed and screeched as their nests flitted down towards the ungodly mess of dirt, blood, and flowers and it was silent for a moment.

A great whistle rustled from above and shattered the air as the thing shot its roots down like stems of some overgrown vermin, as if to snatch the young girl’s body and shoot her off far into the sky.

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