Work Text:
Walking to the cider mill she kicked
a ball around, unaware of being watched
through a scope. Her braided orange
hair swung this way and that
like a wrecking ball; in fact the silver
hair-tie at the end smacked a mosquito
away like the real deal might a bird.
The mosquito just wanted to feed
her babies, but the one in the scope
was focused on her soccer ball.
Football. Soccer ball. Football.
A common argument with her friend
from overseas. She just continued
on the fuzzy green pavement
along the brown husks. But a brown pony
came around the corner and she jumped
back - and her left foot just so happened
to be on the ball such that she vaulted
it away without her right foot to catch it.
The minute space of the scope was
filled with silver. A bang wrecked the ball.
Everybody ran.
Except the mosquito, 'cause she was dead.