we wake up this morning to the sound of rain.
I ask her once, timidly, still only half awake,
breakfast? she doesn’t answer me.
instead she slides on her boots and walks into the grey.
its midday before I ask her again, this time grumbling,
lunch? she smiles at her friends, plays with her phone,
the screen lighting up the soft freckles on her cheeks.
later she says half heartedly, as if she’d know.
when the feeling of hunger begins to numb me
I plead once more, dinner, please? but her hands
curl around the wheel and she pushes on. determined
to find whatever strange storm she’s looking for.
the sun is gone now, the rain becomes so strong
our wipers are on full speed, we are only miles away but
she doesn’t see the headlights in her mirror, or
hear my whimpers. it’s just another hour she says.
our next minutes are slowed down to a heartbeat
when the headlights becomes a trailer and the
seatbelt and I get a thousand times nearer. then the
sound of her breathing gets slower. we’re ok she says.
but in another hour we are lying in a bed,
and I still haven’t been fed. Even her freckles are paler
I’m still hungry, but this time I forget. actually
I don’t think we’ll need to ever eat again.
the next day when the paper rolls off the press
our name is listed. printed in black ink. car crash victim,
age seventeen, cause of death: an empty stomach.
