He winced reflexively when the latch of the lock made the tin
whisper “tick” as he fastened it shut.
In his mind the slight sliding of metal on metal reverberated through
the house; its sound waves magnifying like a kaleidoscope of butterflies
flapping hundreds of wings until the imaginary clattering din reached her sleeping
ears in their bedroom, snapping her awake with accusatory clarity.
This nightly ritual was a secret alchemy. He slowly slid shut the doors of the
closet in his study and gently placed the small stuffed panda he’d taken from
the trunk into the pocket of his robe.
He sneaked to the balcony off their living room and watched tremulous
waves caress the rocks below.
Tonight he dropped the panda into their depths. It fell slowly, bouncing once off the
cliff, and took one of his older scars with it.
Tomorrow he would remove another.
