BY Nick Kimbro
The sisters dance back to back in an arena of statues, over long misshapen shadows that lengthen as the sun sinks. Their gazes drift toward opposite horizons, past the stone effigies surrounding them and the snow-capped peaks in the distance, all glowing faintly orange in twilight.
They twirl among the statues—the heroes of some nation sent to destroy them—and remember their sister Medusa, turned to stone by her own reflection. They wonder if she was able to recognize herself before it happened, or the figure of Persues crouching behind his shield. Life is a matter of faith. It is a tree falling in the woods. And it might be worth the sword that followed if they could only see who carried it, alive and in motion, just once.
They clasp each other’s hands behind their backs, and are careful to keep their serpent locks apart. Error though, is inevitable. One day a misstep will bring them face to face, and they look forward to it with fear and hope. They can have no idea what they’ll see in that moment: perhaps nothing, perhaps everything. It depends upon questions they don’t have the answers to.
Left, one two three, step, one two three…
Still, grey figures whirl past, and they recognize none of their faces. To them, they have never been anything but stone.
Nick Kimbro is a graduate of the creative writing program at Berry College and is currently working toward his MFA at the University of Colorado at Boulder. He has been fortunate enough in the past to have fiction featured in Ramifications, Underground Voices, and Splash of Red. He has work forthcoming in Vivid Magazine and on TuesdayShorts.com.