Fata Morgana
By Susan Firghil Park
Incredibly, he saw hearts. Metallic, fluorescent silhouettes of red and, oddly, green, glowing in the air in front of him. He stumbled on the shabby carpet of the hotel conference room.
Before him, the tall woman was putting books in her backpack, oblivious.
A deep roaring hum in the interstices of his mind. Walls flocked with velvet wallpaper wavered as his matrix reconfigured, spin of a thousand suns fell from the atoms of her hand.
The pulling in his chest a tractor beam.
Stardust to stardust, ashes to bone. Blood to singing blood.
He let his body turn him in.
(This story first appeared in Flashshot Online, 2009)
Susan Firghil Park is a Pushcart-nominated writer living in the Pacific Northwest blissfully surrounded by forests and birds. A chapbook, Estuary Light, was published by Finishing Line Press. Her writing has appeared Aurora Moon, Rain, Branches Quarterly, and in the recent Bloodlore anthology by White Stag Publishing.