The Laugh

The Laugh

When someone is beginning to be split open, a warning sign is a laugh. When what they meant to do was rage and howl - instead there’s a small and low laugh. And their eyes do stay open, but they are gone. Enough that their daughters stop crying and look, open-mouthed at her, their mother. They do not yet know this is a dangerous laugh, but they suspect and they are about to find out. She laughs as she unhinges her jaw and swallows whole first the oldest, then the baby. They are held in the vice-like and permanent loving embrace of her stomach muscles. She feels satisfied, knowing they are safe and the sound of their screaming and writhing is dulled to flutters and mewling kitten purrs. No longer able to fit through the door, she uses the sledgehammer to free the jamb from the wall and ambles through. Having to walk on all fours because these are large, heavy children she goes past the workshop and up to the forest. Her eyes are no longer blue. They are metallic green and flinty. She follows the rut up the hill - A deep gouge dragged through the mud by the giant’s knuckles. He knew this would happen. He left a path. She follows it through folds in the trees until the moon multiplies and she doesn’t know which one pulls her.