Flashtober, 2026

Window

The sun dapples in pools across my skin. I am too spent to reach for the blinds, even though I have just woken up. The pull rod is too far.

My skin prickles. My body traced by phantom eyes through my second-story window that is not tall enough.

Sheets fall to my waist. If I turn my neck and arch my spine, the tightness might release.

I am a figure to be painted, and an image to be snapped. I am still as water.

And last week my neighbor got blackout curtains. Because I won’t be closing my blinds today.