March 28, 2016 Comments Off on Underwater By Mikhail Revlock
Her dad looked like a soggy hat.
It was raining outside, she was standing at the door, and the hat was going into the water. She was wearing pajamas, but she looked like a plaid jumper. Her dad glanced back at her as he went into the water, and the hat in the rain made him look like a waterfall.
The old people across the street were sitting on their porch. They looked like knitting needles and finance sections. They watched the water and the soggy hat. They passed judgments. They saw it coming, him going. They heard his car screech into the driveway at night, saw his face in the morning when he looked like a sick liver.
Her mom came up from behind, put a hand on her shoulder. Mom looked like a pickle jar, and she squeezed so hard it hurt. She closed the door to the hat as he went deeper into the water, then she broke free of the pickle jar’s grip and went to watch the hat through the living room window. The pickle jar followed her to the window. She ran a wet hand through her hair, and the hat kept shrinking until it disappeared.
The knitting needles took the sweater inside. The finance sections rustled in the wind. The plaid jumper remained by the window, seaweed still tangled in her hair.
Later, the pickle jar unscrewed her lid.
© 2015 Mikhail Revlock
Mikhail Revlock lives and writes in Philadelphia. His fiction has been published in Buffalo Almanack. He also writes film reviews for Tinsel & Tine. Find him at http://www.mikhailrevlock.com