Ponds turned pink, then rivers and lakes, like raspberry lemonade. Like the popsicles that melted on the slicks of our tongues. The swimming pools, too. “Jump in,” you dared. My skin didn’t melt, so you followed, splashing. Pink beads dripped between our bodies. Sunlight glittered down our spines. I ached for the bloom in my chest to take hold of you, too, spread pink through your rivulets, pulse up your veins on my cool bed sheets. When the water cleared, you said, “It was just bacteria.” As if daydreams are just biology. As if the blush of your cheeks was just sunburn all along.
Beeper Peddle is a writer and healer living on the East Coast. She lives with her partner and their beloved soul puppy. Beeper writes about sorrows, lies, and deep loves. When you read her work, you will dip down into her heart and end up in all manner of body parts. Should you find yourself reflected in these words, it is merely coincidence; however, it does not surprise her you share the same heart. Find her at bethpeddle.com and @beeperpeddle on Twitter and Instagram
Daniel is a writer from Chicagoland living in the Netherlands. His flash and short fiction can be found (or will appear soon) in Rejection Letters, Gone Lawn, The Daily Drunk, Sledgehammer Lit, and elsewhere. He is a reader for Fatal Flaw literary magazine, and is on Twitter @DerockDaniel.
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