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CicadaYou said to me:Cicada in Flash Fiction & Vignettes
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"I think that I am going mad."
And I said:
Your hair was wet; your eyelashes heavy with the weight of it, and you twisted your fingers together, the knuckles knotting like the loose threads of that old shirt that you always wore on Wednesdays.
"My family are all bears", you said to me, "but I am not. I am not brave enough to be a bear."
I thought of my own family, small and squashed in silence and I understood, my heart like a stone where it sat in my throat, stopping my words from coming out.
You breathed out the smoke where it sat in your mouth, trapped beneath your tongue, and the stone of the cemetery wall was cold behind my back. I looked towards the church, the windows lit with soft gold, and I wished that I was inside, singing along with the false words that my head denied me, anything to escape sitting out here, on the cold cement beside you.
"My mother is a bear", you said, "my father too. They watch bear television and eat bear food and laugh at bear