Colored pips clear and new or matte with chewing pierce a fresh Lite Brite pattern. Twenty-five watts gently heat the black paper and grated screen, the pips and my cheeks washing me with the perfume of plastic warmed by electricity
It smells like Christmas tree lights left on all night lights parents swore were responsibly unplugged before bed lights a child couldn’t help but to deny having turned back on to watch them against the perfect black of 3:00am
If I close my eyes almost all the way the colors burst and meld like hard candies on a cookie sheet Red and green merge amber and brown like the ‘70s, like some lost Christmas where my mother and grandmother might have been happy at the same time
I yearn for this moment I can see through hashed lashes through the holes in the screen doubled vision overlapping this memory I nor anyone else can remember having
Ashy Blacksheep is a writer, veteran, and an undergraduate senior studying Literature and Creative Writing. Having grown up a nomad, traveled the world with the Navy, and adventuring on with her beloved husband and two cats, Ashy fuels her writing passion with life experiences and introspection. Follow along with her musings on Twitter and Instagram @ashyblacksheep.