BETWEEN FOUR JUNCTIONS LORETA STOICA

The Bridge to Avalon

All troops must break step on the bridge to Avalon, but one continues to stomp: one, two, one, two, furiously. The marble splits and cracks. Old sport, why don’t you stop now? But the whispers continue: right, left, right, left. He loved to chain the daisies, and chew the toffee coins. Why can’t the old chap see?

Can’t he see, that to me, his steps are hurting little Geraldee! You see, the bridge to Avalon is scattered with her daisies. But his boots continue to stomp: one, two, one, two, furiously. And now the daisies squilch and squalch like paper mâché. He always loved to press the elderflower pick and the apple pack.

Look, young lad, oughtn’t you to stop now? But the legs still lifted: right, left, right, left. Bitter clouds spun around his head like scummy bathwater tornado-ing down a drain. The bridge to Avalon shook and shivered and Geraldee cried at the thump of the infamous boot.

What a shame, the young lad had such potential. His eyes now unresponsive, once turgid cheeks now hollow, but not like when he battled with his toffee coin. He looks a little poorly.

Shriek. Squeak. Scream. Obscure, terribly teethed shadows of a boot, Geraldee’s last daisy quivering. Little boy, you must stop now! Oh.

The little boy looked around, cheeks plump and plush full of a sugar rush.

The bridge to Avalon fell silent.