The Silence

by Daisy Pearce

Marc-o. Marc-oh. I need to remember that. He’d shown me such kindness.

The bureaucracy of death is daunting.

I can feel the edges of myself and the anxiety that waits there, sharp as blades.

I am horrified by tears. Real tears, the rawness of them.

but I can tell by the set of his shoulders that what he

means is I will swallow you, I will swallow you whole, and I am afraid.

I stared at him without speaking. I was thinking about Hansel and Gretel, nearly eaten by a witch who had pretended to be good and kind and sweet but, of course, she had not been. We knew that, the reader. We knew she was a cannibal.