Balettt

Images of ballerinas and nutmeg filled the boy’s mind. He’d always wondered what being pulling out of a burning building would feel like. Pain everywhere, trapped in a web of pestilence, all of his mind now lost in the flames, flooded in pin-pricks of a thousand fire ants biting at his face. His face would make nuns and popes gag, such a vile face, once beautiful, now the equivalence of decrepit goblins and underground mole people. Vesicles the size of elephant tusks being unraveled on the boy’s face.