Get A Token

Get A Token

By Hibah Shabkhez

Watching our number pop up and blink on that screen is the all-consuming purpose of our

narrowed, hollowed existence as we sweat and squirm in this fanless hall. We chip at the

edges of this blind tunnel, subverting the single-minded pursuit imposed upon us to

collect snippets of story and snatches of song. A red scarf with orange tips. An anime

brooch casually pinned to a headscarf. Yes, the bottle. Yes, you have to boil the bottle.

No, not with the eggs. No eggs, okay? A face creased up with suppressed laughter like a

mountain range. A book with a little girl in a red coat on the cover. I shall never know

the bones of these stories. I only have a taste of the juices that trickle down as they turn

on the spit of life, and the knowledge that I too may become someone’s glimpse of a

story, someone’s dream of a good word like a good tree.