Helpmeet

by Naben Ruthnum

he inclined his head, pushed his chin forward—he still had a chin, his chin still had its skin—and pretended he was a man with a face, facing his wife.

This is from the inside. I can feel it when I’m going to sleep. Through the optic nerves. Drinking, gently, slowly, like brandy punch through a straw.

Violets and reds, then a white turning prismatic, pushing the spectrum into my brain. Blindingly bright, like having the sun in my skull, like nothing I had ever... Edward said, then laughed.