Stuart Douglas

“I am in flames, yet I do not burn,”

Shuggie flicked the brittle heads of the bulrush reeds and wondered whether the sadness would get her today. The frozen reeds were bone dry, and when he tapped the heads their seeds took to the air like little parachutists. They floated up and back to the scheme like a parade of little ghosts. He made a game of telling the ghosts that he loved her, and with a flick he sent them her way.

He wanted to crush her with his secrets the way she had once done him with hers.

It wasn’t fair, the way everyone could up and leave as they pleased.