breadcrumbs

pg | no warnings apply

Breadcrumbs.

Someone would follow the breadcrumbs.

Blow out the candles.

Three books. Seven candy bars, four sodas.

Thirty-three dollars and fourteen cents; bus tickets were more expensive than she thought. Two tubes of lip gloss.

No umbrella, and it looked like rain.

Tissues and a notebook, three pairs of clothes. Her new shoes.

Make a wish.

Forty-three strangers passing by, then she stopped counting. No one asked if she was okay.

A hat from an ex-boyfriend. It still smelled like him.

Blow out the candles, make a wish.

Breadcrumbs.

Make a wish.

Maybe they were having her party anyway.

Blow out the candles.

Sweet sixteen, whatever that meant.

Make a wish.

A small stuffed teddy bear, which once had a name, but it's forgotten. A stain on his paw, one eye lost.

No photos.

Blow out the candles. Make a wish.

No extra socks.

Nail polish is chipped. Weren't allowed to wear it, anyway.

Cheap hand lotion, cheaper perfume. Also forbidden.

Blow out the candles.

3:15 PM.

Make a wish.

A muffin from the restaurant, but no candles.

Song sung under her breath, tears unshed.

Make a wish.

There is no plan.

Blow out the candles.

There never was a plan.

Make a wish.

Muffin tossed into the trashcan.

Breadcrumbs.

Make a wish.

Hairs pulled from a brush, one by one.

3:25.

Five minutes to departure, five minutes to oblivion.

Blow out the candles, make a wish.

There never was a plan. Was there even a good reason?

Should have brought photos.

Make a wish.

Breadcrumbs.

Familiar shoes, desperate voice.

Make a wish.

Ticket, falling to the floor.

Angry embrace, anguished words.

Make a wish.

(fin.)