They float in a glass world. The water never stirs.
”Where do you want to go for your birthday?” “I don’t know, I’m really tired.”
”We could just go home then?”
”Yeah”
When one of them started falling apart, I tried to put it back together. I rolled the creature in between my hot, angry palms. How was it still alive? How had it ever lived?
Now I leave it to rot, to fester.
The other is still whole, still perfect.
The water never stirs.