Trees grow along the bank here with their leaves held up to the sky like the hands of children at a parade, reaching for the candy thrown from the floats. I walk and think and listen to the wind making music in the brambles. Wild thoughts pillage my mind. I think of all the times I should’ve said something clever, but stayed silent and all of the times when I should’ve stayed silent but said something stupid. My tongue tastes of ash and cramps turn my belly. I walk and listen to the creek running over the stones in its bed. If I were to die right now, no one would mourn me. They’d shake their heads and say things like: “I saw this coming,” and “It’s no surprise.” Sparrows and starlings fill the sky with their wings. Ravens tear at the carcass of a ’possum back beneath the trees. It would be easy to lie down here and simply stop my heart. I have a knife with a sharp blade that would let the blood flow from long furrows in my wrists or push through the skin and muscle of my middle and open the liver and stomach to the air.
