In a landfill of film and vaseline I make my depart. I float over the range, not fly-there is no strain. Floating as a helium filled bladder of a soul. Two small girls are shooting skeet. They see me float and take their scurry -except hide in the bushes and aim from there.

Their sweet, little savage natures, dressed in ribbons and lace shine through with honest ubiquity. Both aim high her piece and with narrow precision take one shot.

Bang, collapse, my shadow falls.

They roar in delight and catapult themselves up the hillside to catch the damage, relishing in every racing thought that they finally made a kill. A real kill. 

One decides her shot was the deadly one, the other convinced of the opposite and inverse.  They invent half a dozen reasons the other is wrong in detailed, logical vociferation. One’s pride rides on it: the other, her meal. The great debate of two lives lived from opposing rolling balls. Should privileged dignity be fed? Is necessity the only motivator?

The labyrinthian logic fails to convince the other, but leaves each girl lost in her own. The chews grow louder and more defiant. The uphill scurry turns desperate traipse.

One’s insistence turns to tears. The other’s causes dress ripping. The tears turn to dress ripping and the dress ripping turns to tears. In two identical fits of self-disgust and anger the girls find themselves standing naked over my body-tear stricken, empty.  Their breaths catch as they stare each other in the eyes. 

This goes on for a moment as I watch from my vantage. 

They breathe now in unison, not ashamed, without fear. Agreement has come. Compromise is made. One needs to eat, one needs honor. Neither takes credit, neither longer cares. The sun sets in time lapse speed, the air now cold. I am cold.

The girls become aware of their temperature and, after a moment of pride’s denial, draw up their arms to their bare breasts. Two looks confirm the dresses in pieces - not large enough to build a nest.

But within their rifles are knives, my body splayed by necessity. I wrap myself around them, my blood steeping their shoulders and calves. They curl inside like the twins they remembered from past lives. My babies sleep in unknown peace.