#fiction – Michael Sean Erickson

Last Laugh in North Korea Dream

The prison complex eerily resembles the U.C. Berkeley campus.

She smiles, pulls out her laptop from her backpack, and shows me a sex film.

The wall clock ticks like chirping crickets.

I see what now appears to be her ghost sift in and out of the candlelight.

I stare into my illuminated reflection.

I cannot prevent the cold sweat from starting to pour down my forehead and onto my open script.

The flappers all look over their shoulders like they have been disturbed by a cold breeze.

I open the cargo hold hatch, while holding on tight.

I look out over the skyline, and I wonder: Is he dead? Or is he alive still somewhere in that rat race?

A timely dance ‘fore we’re last curled.