by Heather Collings
They were already late for school, again, when Sarah turned the car east onto the interstate. The fog hadn't cleared despite the burning hot sun behind it, making the sky shine white. When the car began to climb the bridge, the horizon seemed to fall away. "Look, Jamie," Sarah said. "It looks like we're flying." But Jamie was already looking out the passenger side window into the whiteness below.
Heather Collings lives in Charlotte, North Carolina, where she writes poems, edits for Main Street Rag Publishing Company, and gets on or behind stage when she can.