It was true that she’d often be reading a book and thinking of vanilla ice cream, though when the ice cream was dissolving on her tongue, she’d crave the dense bitterness of chocolate bars or sweetness of mandarins. But then she’d realize it was really the language of the book she wanted in her hands again. Though after a few pages, she’d set the book down and reach for a mandarin, digging her nails into the fruit’s thick skin. As the cold juices numbed her fingertips, she wanted mashed potatoes with three pats of butter. Two shakes of salt, a grind of pepper. No, she wanted to brush and braid her hair. Walking into the bathroom, she’d notice the white curve of the claw-foot tub. She wanted to take a bath with bubbles. Though after a few minutes, she couldn’t take the heat of the bath water, the weight of the steam. She’d think of how good the cool night air would feel on her skin. She wanted to go outside and walk. To breathe. Yes, she wanted to breathe.
Abby Sinnott is completing her MFA in fiction at San Francisco State University. Her work has been previously published in Salon.com, In Search of Adventure anthology and Pro-Fusion literary journal. Currently, she is working on a collection of short stories