Atlanta (In Homage Of Atlanta), by Lauren Cho
The shattered screen flickers:
One new message.
Mom: Did you eat dinner yet?
Blue light reflects off glazed eyes. Muscle memory isn’t enough to entice her heavy fingers into a response.
Are you having fun?
Ten minutes ago, amongst bodies glistening with steam, sweat, and mortal femininity, she had been. The laughter now pulsed in her throat, silent bullet.
The phone buzzes. Water drips, methodical red-laced IV. A ghostly hand rises, brushes its fingertips against the screen, and dull eyes fixate on the light, wingless moths drawn to embers. Her ears still ring with the bang! bang! of the gun, blending with the ping! ping! of the red water as it drips onto the floor.
Ping! Ping! Ping!
A mask of lust or racism, passion or malice, even her ghost would be murdered, paraded as a martyr in limbo.
One new message.
I’m off to bed. Don’t stay up too late.
The phone buzzes one final time before the living stirs.
I love you.
Comments