The aftermath of the photo-op was more complex than she originally intended. Not surprise as in: Happy birthday we’re all here wearing fun hats in your living room, but surprise as in: I’m real, look, I have cells and I am soft to the touch. She feels a compulsory need to stay in the Ice Age. Mangy wax mammoth keeps her warm all night. A long line of twine keeps her arm raised high over the saber tooth, one stone suspended over his cold sealed skull. Can’t remember if she wanted them to catch her breathing, living, or if she wanted them fooled. Delights in how her smallest shift hooks all their eyes to her, everyone looking and slowly, carefully cresting the wave of her secret.
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