She is gripped by an unmooring, the park and the sea behind it flattening to a mural, the child to inert figure captured in oil. It passes, fizzing at the edge of her senses. The child has dropped from their perch, stretching this way and that as if to work the cricks from their joints. Their limbs unfold, keep unfolding, and when they stand at their full height it becomes clear they are no child. Too tall. Too elongated. The mouth too wide, full of teeth like a shark’s.
