It felt like the time when she was twelve years old, hair in plaits and neon scrunchies, the circle of the Eucharist resting on her tongue as her grandmother had taken her, for the first time, to church. Like the moon inside her mouth, it had felt too large to sit on the tip of the tongue -- that somehow the metaphorical value she was supposed to assign to this circle of bread was too large for her head to comprehend. They had come in an envelope, looped writing and a crimson kiss, the red square sitting on the centre of her tongue as red beneath blue beneath sun-kissed white began bubble with anticipation. “What if I don’t like it?” She had asked Bradley, moments previous, an attempt at a smile and a muttered ‘you will’ passed her way as the ‘it’ in question was pressed into the palm of her hand. Harmless, the size of a starburst, and no harm had ever come from eating one of those. An irrational, edge-of-the-seat zestful adrenaline seemed to animate her every gesture as at last she swallowed the tab down, eyes, lids lined with a streak of shimmering glitter, stardust plucked right from the stratosphere, screwed shut, her lips pursed into a hardened line. “Bruce Almighty, I’ve gone full on rogue, haven’t I?” The question left her lips as something of a laugh, bright glee lighting a super moon grin. ”I’m absolutely wild. A Grade-A junkie. What would Emilie think?” What would she think -- had the person she was a year ago encountered the stranger that now existed in the same cherry cola, star-spangled case. [ @bradleymilligan ]