Matt Christensen

Macy

The heart-shaped locket shattered against the concrete below. As it burst open, each half scraped over the acidic gravel in opposite directions. The ground was now toxic from nearly one week’s worth of Sour Rain and chasing them quickly was the only way to ensure they didn’t melt. My gloves sizzled as I clutched each one in a different hand. Two halves, two photos. Hers face up and mine face down. Even through the gooey thermal smog, the sun’s warm reflection twinkled across her kind, calm eyes. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and tilted my face to the sky. Exhaling, I promised with a whisper.