Her screen made her think of the moon when she stared at it with the lights off. She heard the insides of her computer spin and touched her fingers to the keyboard, the fingernails chewed down to the pink part.

She had practiced what she would include in her profile, reciting it in her head like a speech even though she knew she would change it at least eleven times before she would even be remotely happy with it.

“Single female seeking cute girl.”

She thought about it and hit backspace.

“Single girl seeking pretty dame.”

And then

“Badass chick seeking girl of equal badassness.”

She deleted that and hit her forehead against her desk. From outside, a car alarm went off and it sounded like a duck trying to find its mother.

She lifted her head and thought, just be honest, and began again.

“Hi, I’m a regular girl looking for the romantic company of another girl who likes watching scary movies because ghost stories are awesome and she should like food but should refrain from calling herself a foodie.”

She scratched her head and drank some water.

“I guess I want a girl who will make me feel something. Like, I want a girl who will throw a brick through a windshield and laugh about it or start fires in dumpsters or show me how to do cool knife tricks.”

From somewhere outside she heard a ticking noise and smelled a mix of curry and flowers.

“We’ll fix each other breakfast on Sunday mornings and then spend all day watching funny animal videos or learning an instrument or trying to figure out sports but ultimately ending up eating a whole thing of popsicles while listening to Hoagy Carmichael and maybe we’ll fall in love or maybe we’ll just make out in my car because I really like making out.”

The car alarm went off again. She closed the screen door and then the heavy glass door behind it and melted in the glow from her monitor.

“Okay, start explaining,” I said. To my left, small, high-pitched voices spoke behind thick beards. To my right, snarls and the smell of raw lamb soaked in shit. “One at a time!” My voice boomed and sparks flew from my ears. Magic has its advantages when trying to get attention. Both groups quieted down.

I held the large pot of honey in my hands. It felt smooth, whole, and warm. I scratched at a single sticky spot.

“You, the one in front. Why don’t you start?” I was pointing at an especially gray-bearded dwarf. It looked like he was trying to pick his nose with his shovel.

“Well, we was harvesting roots and things ‘cause it’s the season and such, and we were walking in the forest, harvesting roots and things, y’see because it’s the season and I was looking for my favorite root that sort of looks like a horse’s dick and…”

“Nevermind,” I interrupted, shaking my head. “How about you? And try to keep it short. And devoid of genitals.”

“We were walkin’ in the woods, saw that there pot of honey lying all alone on the ground, and took it upon ourselves to take it home with us. That’s when those wolves accosted us, ate one of our eldest members…”

“That’s a lie! He walked into my mouth.” The wolves snarled and growled and made animals of themselves. I was reminded of my summers in college and smiled.

“All right, all right. What’s your side?” I licked a bit of honey that had dripped onto my fingers. So delicious and pure.

“Well, that honey belongs to us. We left it in the forest while hunting for dinner. As we were coming back, we saw these hooligans taking it and we acted to stop them…”

“Wait, I don’t understand,” I said. “Why would a wolf need honey?”

“That, sir, is a private matter.”

“Well, I’ll have to know the full story if I’m to make a decision.”

The wolves discussed among themselves. Finally, they spoke. “Hmm, well, y’see, honey is a bit of an aphrodisiac for us. Helps us, er, perform in the den. Keep up the howls, in a manner of speaking. Without it, we would be, well, hungry, if you know what I’m saying. I’m sorry, but are they even old enough to be hearing this?” He jabbed a claw at the little shapes holding their digging tools.

“We’re dwarves, you dick, not children. And we don’t want to know about your romantic impotence. That pot of honey was lying on the ground, unattended, and, thus, fair for the picking. Who’s to say you’re even telling truth?”

The wolves snarled. The dwarves clanked their shovels. I hummed one of my favorite songs as I thought.

“This is quite the tough decision,” I said.

“What do you know, old man?” a dwarf yelled. “Yeah, why’d we even come to this loser anyway?” a wolf growled. Both sides laughed. Cruelty brings people together, I suppose. I was reminded of my winters in high school.

“Screw this! Let’s fight! Whoever wins gets the honey!” There was a cheer and both sides clashed. A shovel lodged into a wolf’s face. The body of a dwarf, its head missing, twitched on the floor.

Well, there’s only one solution here, I thought. I said a few words under my breath—it’s okay, you wouldn’t understand them—and the bearded dwarves and ugly wolves were replaced by chocolate figurines.

“This’ll go great with this honey.” I licked my lips. Even sorcerers have dreams.

Laura had been waiting for hours, maybe even days now. She stared out the window, up into the sky. She pinched the curtains between each finger.

“Where…”

Her eyes scanned the clouds back and forth. “The clouds are getting dark…” They were, but it was probably just the night showing through. Of course, she thought. Her grip on the curtains loosened slightly.

Below, a handful of hats and coats on legs hurried about the walkway. The men wore bowler hats and had their umbrellas hooked on their arms, ready to open them at the first drop of water.

None of them looked up at Laura. Anyone who saw her would have thought her beautiful but lonely. The type of girl who wore bright red lipstick and draped herself in black.

Laura only noticed them as strangers, yet she thought nothing strange of them. After all, they had never felt feathers the way she had.

A man stopped to check his watch. Laura looked up at her clock. He was late. She stared back into the clouds, assuming he’d appear instantly. She thought she saw a flash of light behind one of the chimneys.

“Some tea, maybe. Yes, tea…” Muttering to herself helped her let go of the curtain. She walked into the kitchen, filled a teapot, and placed it on the stove. She paced and muttered, said things like, “Well, the weather. Yes, the weather.” and, “Maybe I didn’t sound sincere.” The sound of her footsteps lined up with the floorboards.

The teapot whistled, and she absently took out a cup and chewed a fingernail. She poured the water out, fog to her eyes. Too distracted. She yelled, dropped the cup, and ran for a towel, the back of her hand already turning red. “Get a hold of yourself, Laura.” She wrapped her hand in cloth and ice and stepped towards the cup.

It once held a pattern of a rosebush, the roses pink and whole and connected by thick patches of green. But it all came apart. Spots of pink mixed into the green, framed by the white like paper. The tea was a clear dirt that dripped everywhere.

Laura bent to pick up the pieces but cut her finger and bits of her finger dripped into the pink roses and green bush and tanned paper.

“Maybe maybe maybe…”

Her eyes saw swirls, and then bits of her eyes became part of her finger and the roses and the paper.

Then the dark clouds outside were her eyes, matching the footsteps of ants. She dropped to her knees and listened. She could hear the shape of the street, the slick of the windows, the bowler hats opening umbrellas.

Through the clouds and shape of the city, she finally saw a feathered shadow and let her tears drip into her smile.

“Look out!”

Her feet almost landed on my legs. The leaves tumbled out of her hair. The branch she had been balancing on still shook. She had a twig tucked behind her ear, like she was an artist thinking. I thought she was beautiful.

“What’re you doin’?” she asked. Most people ask that out of politeness. Niceties and manners and such. But she looked curious and pretty, so I told her.

“I’m watching.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw her look at my clothes. It was a quick scan. Brown lumpy jacket, dirty brown pants, black streaks for feet. I looked like a pile of cow shit. She didn’t seem to mind.

“What are you watching?” She must have realized she had waited too long to respond.

I pointed. Half a caterpillar on a fence. It was still alive somehow, but it wouldn’t be for long. The sun, a bird, the wind, time, something would finish off that half and then it wouldn’t be a half anymore.

“Poor thing…” Her voice was like the branch. She was actually concerned for that half a caterpillar. I saw something lovely in her just as I watched the halfcaterpillar squirm for the last time.

She took the twig from behind her ear and dug a small hole in the dirt. She picked up the nothingcaterpillar and placed it in the hole and covered it up. She dusted the twig off and tucked it behind her ear again, pushing her hair back. I envied that twig.

She noticed me staring. Her eyes cleared and she smiled. “Here.” She took a coin from her waist and placed it into my hand, just like she put that nothing into the ground. For a moment, I felt her fingers.

She waved and skipped down the road, touching every other tree she passed. She never looked back.

It was a good day.

—-

Illustration by the lovely Jaclyne