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Douglas
picked
up
the
Mason
jar
with
the
cold
dark
lumps
in
it
and
the
cool
lights
flicked
on
again
,
as
if
given
life
by
his
hand
.
He
lifted
the
Mason
jar
to
where
it
shone
fitfully
on
his
summing
-
up
.
The
final
words
waited
to
be
written
.
But
he
went
instead
to
the
window
and
pushed
the
screen
frame
out
.
He
unscrewed
the
top
of
the
jar
and
tilted
the
fireflies
in
a
pale
shower
of
sparks
down
the
windless
night
.
They
found
their
wings
and
flew
away
.
Douglas
watched
them
go
.
They
departed
like
the
pale
fragments
of
a
final
twilight
in
the
history
of
a
dying
world
.
They
went
like
the
few
remaining
shreds
of
warm
hope
from
his
hand
.
They
left
his
face
and
his
body
and
the
space
inside
his
body
to
darkness
.
They
left
him
empty
as
the
Mason
jar
which
now
,
without
knowing
that
he
did
so
,
he
took
back
into
bed
with
him
,
when
he
tried
to
sleep
.
.
.
There
she
sat
in
her
glass
coffin
,
night
after
night
,
her
body
melted
by
the
carnival
blaze
of
summer
,
frozen
in
the
ghost
winds
of
winter
,
waiting
with
her
sickle
smile
and
carved
,
hooked
,
and
wax
-
poured
nose
hovering
above
her
pale
pink
and
wrinkled
wax
hands
poised
forever
above
the
ancient
fanned
-
out
deck
of
cards
.
The
Tarot
Witch
.
A
delicious
name
.
The
Tarot
Witch
.
You
thrust
a
penny
in
the
silver
slot
and
far
away
below
,
behind
,
inside
,
machinery
groaned
and
cogged
,
levers
stroked
,
wheels
spun
.
And
in
her
case
the
witch
raised
up
her
glittery
face
to
blind
you
with
a
single
needle
stare
.
Her
implacable
left
hand
moved
down
to
stroke
and
fritter
enigmatic
tarot
-
card
skulls
,
devils
,
hanging
men
,
hermits
,
cardinals
and
clowns
,
while
her
head
hung
close
to
delve
your
misery
or
murder
,
hope
or
health
,
your
rebirths
each
morning
and
death
’
s
renewals
by
night
.
Then
she
spidered
a
calligrapher
’
s
pen
across
the
back
of
a
single
card
and
let
it
titter
down
the
chute
into
your
hands
.
Whereupon
the
witch
,
with
a
last
veiled
glimmer
of
her
eyes
,
froze
back
in
her
eternal
caul
for
weeks
,
months
,
years
,
awaiting
the
next
copper
penny
to
revive
her
from
oblivion
.
Now
,
waxen
dead
,
she
suffered
the
two
boys
’
approach
.
Douglas
fingerprinted
the
glass
.
"
There
she
is
.
"
"
It
’
s
a
wax
dummy
,
"
said
Tom
.
"
Why
do
you
want
me
to
see
her
?
"
"
All
the
time
asking
why
!
"
yelled
Douglas
.
"
Because
,
that
’
s
why
,
because
!
"
Because
.
.
.
the
arcade
lights
dimmed
.
.
.
because
.
.
.
One
day
you
discover
you
are
alive
.
