SQN - Sine Qua Non - Issue 1 - Journal - Page 119
SINE QUA NON
Penny Walker
Badland
Perhaps there is a wilderness. Perhaps there is a river at its boundary. Perhaps there is a
narrow beach along the river. Perhaps there are tall grasses on this beach whose razor edges
show no mercy when a body is pressed down through them. Perhaps there is sand so cold
she doesn’t think she’ll ever be warm again. Perhaps there are trees crowding the river like
witnesses who say nothing. Perhaps there is a trail through the trees that will take her through
shadow and precipice. Perhaps there are hills so dark she believes that she can’t be found.
Perhaps there is a broad meadow beyond the hills where distant train horns sound like a girl
screaming, or perhaps it’s just the physics of steam pressure and release.
Perhaps there is no wilderness. Perhaps there is no river, but a highway. Perhaps there
is a hotel along the highway with many rooms. Perhaps there is a ballroom where aunts and
uncles and babies gather. Perhaps there are so many people that no one notices a few absences.
Perhaps there is another, smaller room where she is frozen. Perhaps there is a voice, her
cousin’s, breathing sweaty words into her ear she will never be able to escape. Perhaps there
are sour hands, insistent skin. Perhaps there is a train passing just beyond the room whose
warning shriek sounds like a girl screaming.
Perhaps.
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