Ice
I press my blackened hand to the clear surface that separates the inner place from the outer. How the tar got on my hand I don't know; I only dream that it came from a tar pit holding dinosaur bones.
There is snow beside me and beneath me, but inside the house looks even colder. I can see Mommy holding a wooden spoon, tasting the hot chocolate she is cooking in the blackened saucepan.
Daddy is dead.
When I go inside I let the snow drip from my blackened coat onto the hallway floor that looks like gray stones. I take it off and throw it onto the cold floor, but I decide to keep my black boots on. I go into the kitchen and sit on the floor. The floor there is like greasy, yellow flowers. Mommy pats my head then kneels down in front of me. She smiles. I love you, she says. I blink and lick my lips. The hot chocolate will be good.
She goes to the old stove and lifts the pan and pours it into my dinosaur mug. The one with the face of the flesh-devouring tyrannosaur. I never saw the movie but I have the mug. The hot chocolate is coming towards me, but then it stops. Mommy, who is holding it, stares at the space behind me. I turn to look and see nothing.
Wait, there is a spider on the wall.
No, it's a crack. She is looking at the wall, and beyond the wall. She lets the mug crash to the floor and rushes to the wall. I get down on my knees and bend over to lick the hot chocolate as it moves across the clean floor. I make a slurping noise, make it louder so I can't hear her crying. She kisses the wall, and presses her arms against it. The next day I see a plastic bandage over the crack.
Daddy is still dead and he won't be back until next week.