His skin was flushed with red chillis. He stood at the end of the road, the concrete sidewalks melted and bubbled cerulean spheres, flames blossomed out of the palm trees and the sky tied knots within its moisture-laden clouds.
There she was in front of him, motionless.
Her skin as porcelain under still water, the tier of her onyx dress floated in the wind and her slender, soft hands tucked under each other, delicately, as if she were holding something fragile.
He threw his fingers up into the air and caught his escaping breath. He inhaled the breath back through his nostrils; its frost dried and cracked his beige lips. He flattened the creases from his crinkled white shirt and began to approach her.
Her chest filled with fear, and her heart began palpitating. The ebony, lace of her dress unravelled from her sides, revealing her ribs. With every shallow, inhalation she took, her blinding pale skin pulled tort against her bones. She stumbled backwards and her eyes welled with transparent silver dew.
They were the only ones left. Neither had seen another spirit since the sun swallowed heaven and hell. This meeting meant the possibility of fantasy translating the present into the future.
Life after death.
She didn’t know whether or not to open her hands.
He didn’t know whether or not to back away.
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