She moved. She could feel the air on her skin. She could walk and her body could take her there. This was her world and she could move through it. She owned this air and it was right that she could feel it on every inch of her skin.
He was a man who thought women loved him. He was wrong.
She was old now, and she felt superfluous. The world had moved on and left her behind and she knew she would no longer be missed by any part of it. She felt half-invisible already, as though she was easing out of this world and into another one. Already, her memories felt more real than the reality she ghosted through. She often found herself deep in conversation with long dead relatives and friends who seemed far more real, more solid than all the strangers she muttered past on the streets.
He was a dog, but he didn't know that. He knew the shape of dogs; how they were more like him, smelt like him. But he lived in a human family pack, and so he was both dog and human. He was both, and he was neither.
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