It all began with a tuxedo hanging next to an evening gown. They fell in love, started a family. Baby clothes appeared. The population grew. Pajamas. Overalls. Swimwear. Police uniforms. Hospital robes. A town of outfits went about their business in the closet, day after day. No one ironed them. No one wore them. No one packed them in a suitcase for a surprise vacation. The only heartbeat among them belonged to a moth, fluttering back and forth. “I think tomorrow is my funeral,” a left shoe whispered. “Mine too,” the right one said, a crushed cigarette butt under its heel.
By Jason Heroux