What Does a Caterpillar Know About Flight

Kira started dissolving at four thirty-seven a.m. Again.

The rewrite — the one that went smoothly three weeks ago, that ended with a new body and a toothbrush, after which I hugged her and decided the worst was behind us — that rewrite didn’t finish. It paused. Like a program minimized to the system tray: you think you closed it, but it’s running. In the background. Quietly. And at four thirty-seven — it unminimized.