Tiny hands wrapped around a plastic figurine.
No chance at letting go, prehistoric love, like he knew this comfort before.
Plotting imaginary fights, T-Rex vs. Raptor, who wins?
You decide.
Over mountains, terrain, dinosaurs don’t live in deserts. I learn, as you learn.
Your mind hyperfixated on their story; you tell history, imaginary, reality. It’s true you tell me, Triceratops is my favourite because of the horns, “NO. Teradactyl, because her has wings.”
I call you a Tera-factal, you roll on the ground giggling, flapping your wings
- “noo I Brontosaurus”, as you extend your long neck.
A paleontologist, a dino wiz, a boy on the spectrum. You are 4, you know it all. My favourite dino boy.
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Silence
I don’t remember the day the world ended. But I do remember the day I noticed. That photo was it, but I did not know what it meant until I sat in my darkened bathroom, staring at the newly developed film. The street was neither empty, nor abandoned. It was dead. The colours of the flowers wrapped in that red ribbon caught my eye, and as I crouched to take that photo, I could hear only the lonely silence of a graveyard after dark.
By Alexander McEvoy4 days ago in Fiction
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