the people did not get burned, for the fire was not hot. Burning the wooden stick it was on, though, the ashes dropping were white. Plaster white.

 

        Jarring them away from me, beckoning them away. I made a slight attempt at humor that only slighted my status. Amusement was not mirth.

 

        Feather fell from the sky. Plate glass, they were. Bright glossy feathers. Falling in triplets. Patronage printed on the tips in the form of messages. To help me? No.I nudged my way down, saw the message clearer. Printed was an advertisement. To help me? No. They never do.

 

        Plexiglass discs headed towards me and the other people, standing still in uniform stance as though to begin an orderly war. The discs pulled everyone to the ground, onto the bed of soft feathers. A man wanted to make love to me. He was old, blood flowed from his lips. I said no. The man disappeared. Little white slides turned the air cluttered. Then everyone was gone. 

 

        I was alone.