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move the words around inside. I can feel them dancing. It's like
being in a body again, a little, like blood going through me.
I've been looking out and trying to move the picture, just one
twitch. Sometimes I think maybe I do it, but I could be just
imagining things.
Yesterday, sorneone's house caught fire. One of my paperbacks was
under the kitchen table, holding the short leg up so it would be even
with the others. And I felt it when the book began to burn. Icould
actually hear the fire. It was the first moment of sound I'd
experienced since I'd died. And I could feel the flames lapping at
the paper, pulling word after word out and chewing it up and
swallowing it in heat. I felt the flames curl around the ink on the
back of the book like they were reaching up and lapping at the skin
on my face.

And it was beautiful.

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