the_place_where_he_inserted_the_blade ovenbird Tell me how your world falls apart. Mine begins with water: In the basement, a pipe emerging from concrete like a twisted tree root siphons crocodile tears from the swampy depths of someone’s private hell. They well up and spread through the carpet beneath my feet, soaking my pant leg. My dog tries to drink from the gathering puddle, but I call him off sharply, sensing poison pooling between hydrogen and oxygen. My brother says, “they’re going to take a lobe of her lung, you know.” I nod, and my tears join the mess on the basement rug. My daughter is walking to school and the bell is ringing and it’s the second bell and we’re going to be late, it’s going to be too late. The printer won’t turn off. It spews out reams of my children’s scribbled artwork, school projects with title pages rendered in coloured pencil, stapled sheaves of hand written notes. The tray is jammed but the paper keeps flying. I shove my hand into its inky, venom fanged mouth, and try to extract its last meal. (Is it still alive? Is whatever was swallowed whole still breathing?) Someone is coming up the stairs. I can hear violence in each footstep, as if murder is a shoe with a sharp heel. I find a knife but I’m not strong enough to make it do my bidding. He’ll take it from me. He’ll use it against me. He’ll find the space between my ribs and slide his fingers underneath. It’s Christmas and there’s nothing to serve for dinner. How do you forget it’s Christmas? The doctors aren’t sure the surgery will be successful. I call you. I need to hear your voice. There is something urgent I need to say. Your father answers the phone. He says you will not take calls without a formal appointment made at least three hours in advance. He could fit inside the focus ring of an electron microscope. If you twist it just right the sky comes in. It’s going to be too late. The bell rang a long time ago. 260427 what's it to you? who go blather from