Spaces between can be stretched, like shadows lengthening in
the fading day. Strange magic tugs on atoms, bending and pulling objects until
they vanish. She does not understand that it is herself she wishes to make gone
when she says her words into the waiting air. She only speaks the words, “Make
it go,” and mass, neither created nor destroyed, rearranges itself elsewhere.
It is simpler to make things disappear instead of feelings.
Easy to banish
a bowl or a trinket, still
the shadows remain.
Song Choice: Smile by Nat King Cole
Photo by Jellico's Stationhouse
This story told in haibun came from a combination of the picture prompt given over at Friday Fictioneers and the prompt from Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads, Physics with Bjorn: Space time and the theory of special relativity.
