The Distance She Has Come

It tastes like copper; that ice-and-fire liquid burning skin, cloth, soul. It eats into things; tearing, bruising, gnawing for a purpose beyond itself. She watches as the raspberries float, bubbles emerge and explode at the surface like fireworks. She waits as the toxic whispers wrap around her throat, twisting, stroking. She can no longer hear, see, only feel. There is taste, strong and bold against her tongue; she holds her breath, swallows until it is gone.

She cannot believe it is gone. The bubbles, the copper. All that is left is guilty transparency, glittering in the half-light neon.