05. Morrow

The girl lifts her arm, sunlight passing through her fingers. What a lovely day today. A lovely day to do nothing. Still lying in bed, she reaches for a doll-like lump, hanging upside down off the edge.

“Good morning, Mo.”

She wiggles and stretches. Her body is still sore from…was it yesterday? Two days ago? How long did she sleep? Feels like forever. Not enough. Do others get achy after talking to people?

“It’s a no-people day!” She cheers.

Grabbing Mo’s arm, she slides down the bed like warm butter.

Morrow was born many moons ago, stitch by stitch, in her hands.
She calls her lanky friend “Morrow”, sometimes “Mo”. She’d heard it somewhere but forgot what it meant. It sounds like “more roll”, and she likes bread.

“Why can’t the world be made out of bread instead of cotton candy?” She bites into her toast, crumbs flying off like snowfall.
“Where do you think all the fluff comes from?”
“Does it ever run out?”
Mo tilts its head.
The girl copies. She just remembers how heavy her head is.

Everything about that day comes up: the chatter, the sweetness, the melting bodies, the fluff.
“If I kept eating the fluff, would I turn into a puddle too?”
Mo slouches on the chair, contemplating.
“Everyone was having fun,” she pats her stomach. “It looks so easy, pulling fluff out of their bellies.”
She glances at the pair of scissors hanging on the wall…
“What a silly thought. Silly thoughts on top of silly thoughts!”
She shakes her head.

“Let’s go on with our do-nothing day, shall we?”
She smiles at Mo; Mo smiles back.