Dried blood browned the small lines of my palm. I smeared a small cut on my chin absolutely as I stared at the screen. All I could think of was where Molly had gone this time. My hair greased with frustration from the countless times I ran my fingers through it.

She replicated Houdini without flair— closer to a cryptid than a magician. Loving her felt cursed— eyes wide like a fae touched fool & no one to stop me following the road to ruin.

Her father resembled a broken blood hound the last time I saw him. Eyes permanently cast with worry and broken blood vessels. An absent minded hand held over a sour stomach. It ages a body, endless despair.

During her brief visits back to normalcy— you could see the weight of the disappearances hang off Molly’s thin shoulders like anchors. She resembled a parakeet trying to hold a cage up— all it left was a crushed mess of feathers.

I don’t know what hurt worse— her being gone— or right in front of me struggling. Refusing any and everyone’s help. A drowning swimmer refusing to take hold of a lifeline. It scared me to think of whatever Molly was trying to keep from pulling us into.

How deep were the waters she waded through out of sight from the world?