Auld Lang Syne
NATALIE BUCSKO
The descending ball sparkles on TV. I navigate the potted trees, looking for the right guy.
FIVE!
The excited crowd drowns out the revelers twenty stories below.
FOUR!
He’s in a corner by himself, peering over the protective-perimeter of plants. A chill races up my spine when he turns my way.
THREE!
My mouth is dry. I lick my lips in anticipation. Only one thing can sate my thirst.
TWO!
I press my hands to his chest. Hard.
ONE!
His scream is swallowed by the fireworks’ roar as he falls. I join the crowd, singing, “Should old acquaintance be forgot…”
Natalie dislikes being perceived on the material plane. Check out her work at https://nataliewriteson.com/