A Strange Hymn

by Laura Thalassa

I guess I now have my answer to that stupid “rhetorical” question: If a friend asked you to jump, would you? Apparently, twat-waffle that I am, I would.

“I would steal the stars from the sky for you,” he whispers into my ear. “Anything to hear you laugh like that.”

“Mate is the correct term,” he says, his voice pitched seductively low. “I’m not your”—he makes a face—“boyfriend. I’m neither a boy nor particularly friendly.”

“It’s like eating stale cereal. It seems fine on the outside, but once you bite into it, you have all the regrets.”

“When I close my eyes, all I see is the shape of your face and the brightness of your smile. You are the stars in my dark sky, cherub.”