The Shining Girls

by Lauren Beukes

She thinks of it as a pirate’s treasure cove. (“Trove” her mother corrects, but Kirby imagines it as a magic hidden bay, one you can sail into, if you’re lucky, if your map reads right.)

The way he looked at her made Kirby’s stomach flip like when you’re on the tilt-a-whirl, and it feels like someone has scooped out your insides.

She’s even been practising making out with the back of her hand. Which was about as effective as tickling yourself. It’s why you need other fingers, other tongues. Only other people can make you feel real.

Nothing is infinitely reducible. You can split an atom but you can’t vaporize it. Stuff sticks around. It clings to you, even when it’s broken. Like Humpty Dumpty. At some point you have to pick up the pieces. Or walk away. Don’t look back. Fuck the king’s horses.

The future is not as loud as war, but it is relentless with a terrible fury all its own.

“Which is what religion is based on, really. Trying to live up to the expectations of Big Sky Dad.”

Gravity feels terrible. Increased a millionfold. Not the weight of her dog, his fur matted with blood. The weight of the world. She feels something come loose from her middle, hot and slippery. She can’t think about it.

Trouble calls out its own.

Dope don’t have no sympathy, not for love or family, definitely not for fear. Put dope and the devil up against each other in the ring, and dope will win out. Every single time.

It drops her into freefall like an elevator with its cables cut.

The door can take it though, especially if it’ll keep her from doing something rash like bursting out, because the darkness in here has a weight and a pressure like being in the deep end of the swimming pool.

Poison shared is poison halved. Or maybe it just poisons everyone equally.

But everything is finite. Life. Love. All this.” She waves her hand vaguely at the assorted boxes. “Sadness too. Although that’s harder to let go of than happiness.”

The problem with snapshots is that they replace actual memories. You lock down the moment and it becomes all there is of it.

There are patterns because we try to find them. A desperate attempt at order because we can’t face the terror that it might all be random.

It’s the most terrible thing to hear, but in a way, it was also a relief. Because if you only have one child, you know you will never get that phone call again.

Dan’s vision is going furry-dark around the edges like a cataract. Like falling down a well and the iris of light getting further and further away.