A Doorway Left Ajar by Maria Haskins

It’s 1979 again when I find her.

She’s on her bike, riding too fast down a steep hill. The wheels spin, spokes blurring into ghosts of movement – strands of tangible reality, merged; filaments of light, fused.

I breathe the day in – sky, sun, cut-grass. I’d forgotten what the world was like, before I broke it. Beneath my feet, the puddle settles. The rippling surface is a hole. A gap. A doorway left ajar. I have to close it.

The bike stops, strands and filaments separating.

“Hi,” she says. “Who’re you? I’m Marie.”

I nod. “I know. That’s my name, too.”

Bio: I’m a Swedish-Canadian writer and translator. I was born and grew up in Sweden, but have been living in Canada since the 1990s. Currently, I live outside Vancouver with a husband, two kids, and a very large black dog.

My fiction has recently appeared in Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Flash Fiction Online, Cast of Wonders, and Shimmer.

Website: https://mariahaskins.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/MariaHaskins

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/mariahaskinswriter/

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