The girl holds the beam, cupped carefully in her two small hands. She knows it will be useful later, like a remote control for happiness. But what to do with it until then? She steps through the doorway, enters a small palace of pink oh my god so much pink where white lacquered ghosts watch her sleep at night in their spindly forms.
She knows the corners of this room, the places where dust and hair collectively defy the vacuum’s growl. Stepping softly, lest she jostle her precious burden, she searches the recesses for just the right cocoon: a place of darkness and walls. Her toy bin is opened too frequently to suffice, and her closet with its slitted eyes would surely leak brilliance in tears of gold. No, it must be secure, her gift kept safe for later. Her gaze lands on a small silver box on her dresser, and she decides that it’s perfect.
Check out the rest of the story on August 27th, at Asymmetry Fiction.