This boy feels for tumors along his neck. Fingers roaming, mapping, little-by-little, he stands before the bathroom mirror, yellow lights making heat crawl, making his skin falter on his bones. This boy believes he will die on a snow-covered hill, the sun brassy and loud overhead. A counterpoint. A turning. Slamming open. Shutting soft. So this boy fears illness. He fears his body breaking, his mind sweeping away like sand.
This boy is afraid of certainty, and that is why he can do nothing but search.
Jared Povanda is an internationally published writer and freelance editor from upstate New York. His work has been published in Pidgeonholes, CHEAP POP, Maudlin House, and Splonk, among others. Find him online @JaredPovanda and jaredpovandawriting.wordpress.com.