I’m reading magazines as I wait for the doctor. Page three says there’s a hole in the ozone and we can’t escape it. It’s 9.6 million square miles wide. It becomes harder to breathe. I close the magazine. There’s a chip in the blue nail polish on my ring finger so I pick at it until the nail is naked. Absence, I decide, is what got me here in the first place. The absence of color, of confidence, of a way out before the hole in the ozone swallows what’s left of me. My name is called out. I hesitate.
Makenzie Ozycz teaches creative writing, writes creative writing, and reads creative writing. She lives in the middle of nowhere with her husband, dog, and tortoise. Twitter: @MakRose127