The beaker
The beaker is full of thick, dark blood. Silence! Mother stuck a clothes-hanger up her nose trying to unclog the vacuum cleaner. It was full of scarlet pimpernel. Father fainted. She asked one of us to call 911. The fireflies are drunk, they’ve forgotten the path to the sun and bleed in a cave near a cliff. Silence, mother fears the chafing in our stare.