Solitary except for flies buzzing a west window, a child crouches on loose floorboards in the attic, scratching the back of an old mirror, parts of his face missing. Silver curls and glistens in the sawdust between joists. Heat of the summer leaks wetness around his hairline, half-gone. He watches his eyes disappear. Light floods the attic - earth light. He lingers until the sun turns pink, his face, gone, silver shavings around his bare feet. Only then he descends the stairs to enter the rooms below, whole.

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