Flash Fiction: For Rent
Domestic dreams are slippery. Close the shutters; say a prayer. Docile can be dangerous and smiles can have scales. Pick me out of your teeth and take a deeper bite. I can swallow you whole. I paint my nails. I wear socks to bed. I dream of beady eyes. I wake up to my house on the floor. The ceiling is dripping; my desire is draining. I wipe your sweat off my brow. Did you see me make you disappear? My footsteps rattle. You hear me down the hall. The shingles drip off the roof and your face fades from the picture frame.