Rain rumbled in over marshes dragging
its sky behind. Hans-Peter read his sister’s letter, cradled her words against gusting
winds. Someone said you’re crying but then everyone here cries. Jonas helped
Leon into his pig suit. It was tricky to align human eyes with pig mask eyes.
Play the music directed Isabella. Hans-Peter made an abrupt about turn. An old
man in oilskins watched him from the road. Would you like to borrow a butterfly
net, the old man asked. Rain seemed to pull marshes after it leaving its sky
behind to become earth. Ilse read her brother’s letter, cradled his words
against gusting winds. The land lay flat and rolling, a sea-lion dreaming time
away. She climbed some steps and pushed at the loft cover. It opened and she
hauled herself in by her wrists. Her brother’s butterfly net was caught on a
nail knocked into a rafter. Carefully, so as to avoid snagging, she manoeuvred
the net free. A few inches from her head birds tap-danced. Whatever she
remembered she could not cry. She pressed on the rusty catch of a suitcase. The
catch sprung up and she eased open the lid. She saw herself, folded in two, lying
inside. Her pale blue dress drifted from her flesh and wound itself about the
sky.
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