Peel
By Julie E. Czerneda
Author’s Note: Sometimes the worlds we shape are our own.
Water seeps through the windowsill when the wind blows from the east. It finds a path through a crack in the plastic. It soaks the plaster within, lingers in hidden wood.
Best of all, it peels the paint.
Her fingers tremble over the imperfection, stroke the ripples like a lover’s skin.
With a nail, she marks the edge of softness, then pulls ever-so-gently. The paint—its colour of no importance—comes away willingly. She grasps the tiny beginning between fingertips; her tongue’s between her teeth.
She tries not to hope too much.
This is her lucky day. The paint peels with extravagant generosity, bringing with it strips of paper from the dampened wall. She shifts her fingers to the edges, careful to wo
