oh, anna [-hs]

glass house

56.

There's a bird's wing brushing against my shoulder. I blink my eyes open and yawn. My legs are freezing cold. My palms are freezing cold.

They're pressed against an icy surface. I'm laying on top of a sheet of glass, looking down at the world below. It's inches thick, clear as water.

It's an inky black night. The stars glitter above me. A gravelly highway is etched into the countryside. A bridge is constructed over the road, blinding a strip. A street light flickers. The bird caws and flaps its wings, a warped annoyance in my ears.

I've been here before.

I've been here before?

Have I?

The street light flickers.

A strong breeze blows through me to the bone. I shiver. The whooshing is the only sound. Until a faint motor starts from over the edge of the horizon.

Have I been here before?

The bird screams. I give it a look, and sit up on my knees. The motor is getting closer, closer. The wind is whirring.

It's a motorcycle.

And suddenly--

I'm driving a car, but the road is spinning. It's winding back and forth. I swerve wildly, tring to stay in my lane. The sun is so bright in front of me. I'm squinting. I can't see. I have to keep moving forward. I have to.

I'm sweating. I'm crying. I'm screaming.

I'm screaming from above. I'm pounding on the glass. I'm pounding and it's shaking but it won't crack.

I've been here before. And all I can do is watch.

The sun's getting closer...

Danny's laughing in my ear. He's laughing. His eyes are twinkling in my windshield.

"Hey Tinkerbell," but the voice isn't his. It's warped, layered with machinery and what my dad sounds like. It's not his voice. I strain, trying to hear him, just him. But I can't. He doesn't have a voice anymore. Not one I can return to for comfort. His voice has been lost to the void of time and memory and--

And then his gaze melts to horror. His laughter turns into a shrill scream. He's screaming. I'm screaming.

I press my foot harder on the gas. I'm choking. I cough and blood trickles down my chin.

I 'm pounding on the glass.

I'm pounding on the steering wheel.

I'm pounding on the gravelly highway.

I'm pounding the button on the controller as hard as I can. As hard as I can. Maybe if I press the button harder I can save him.

I'm pressing my fingers into the guitar strings. They're blistered and bleeding. Maybe if I press harder he can hear me from the other side.

Danny's lifeless body falls into my arms for the briefest moment. He wakes up and cries. And coughs. And goes limp again. I'm wailing.

I'm so cold. I'm shaking. The bird is shaking me.

I've been here before.

I wake up screaming.

I'm thrashing and crying and I can't move.

There's arms wrapped tight around my shoulders. There's a voice in my ear. The blanket is gone. It's pushed to the end of the bed.