There are so many bees in the wall that the outlets are leaking honey. Ants come looking for sweetness, marking black streaks like sesame seeds up the molding. When I stand near, I can hear the buzzing, a deep vibration like the hum of a car radio out on the street. I can feel the wall’s warmth in the room. We stay in the warm house forever. If it were up to me, that’s where we’d be now: together, in the golden light, sunflowers on our dining room table, the calendar never changing, the clock stopped.
Read the rest of my late-summer flash piece over at Bodega Mag.