Whittling in the Dark

She liked imagining

NOTICE

To my dearest mother,

Know it was not your fault I turned out this way.

It seemed so very far. So very, very far away. Sienna wished she could reach for it. Just gather it up from the vastness of the sky and bundle it into a flask for later. She liked to drink it. She liked to drink it under the midnight because it was the only time she could fly without fear of seeing how she'd muddied the cloudless blues. Nighttime was much safer; much easier on the eyes. And on the conscience.

She lay on a breezy patch of grass, crossing her legs and taking a good long sip. She lay under the thousands of maps of stars that rolled across the top of the miniature snow globe they called Earth. She liked to think of it as wrapping paper. That these endless forests of space were parcelling the souvenir of life beneath their gimmicky glitter. No one yet had the courage to bestow it or receive it, for the responsibility that came with it was far too great. But one day, someone would find it on the lonely shelf of the universe, and maybe they'd remember their grandmother. They'd remember how she loved parcels of life hidden inside worldly, fist-sized spheres. And maybe it'd find a good home.

Sienna exhaled, tossing a cigarette against the wet mud behind her.

She pulled out a little box, checking her phone in the process. Seventy-one voicemails, forty-eight messages, and nine hundred and one missed calls.

Bing!

Nine hundred and two.

She switched off her phone and held a small metal lump against the new cigarette.

A quiet flame lit up her face, flickering gently, licking lovingly at the tips of her fluttering lashes before being forced back into its tin lamp. It was a genie after all. Granting wish after wish after wish till the litter bin was filled with ash and the Physics books smelled like soot.

And if the fire was a genie, the smoke was her magic carpet of solace. She held her hand out it front of her, clenching and unclenching her palm; watching the grey threads slip silkily between her fingers and out of reach. Flying her to the moon and back. She chuckled hoarsely at the thought. Her old vinyls of Sinatra were probably wasting away in her cardboard box back home. She had excuses though.

She had school.

She had friends.

She had her magic carpet.

That was enough.