When she was sixteen
She pricked her finger
On the pointed edge of a filing cabinet
Beige metal, red metal, mingled together
She fell into a deep sleep.
In the dreamworld, she went to school
Graduated with honours
Found a job in an arctic-wind office building
Where she could look down through the clouds.
In the dreamworld, she called the filing cabinets . . . brother.
We are alike. We are akin.
Like you, I am full of secrets
Just waiting to be opened up.
This is not a love story.
Copyright © 2003 Leah Bobet
Leah Bobet studies English Literature and Linguistics at the University of Toronto. Her work has appeared recently in On Spec, and is upcoming in Arabella Romances and H.P. Lovecraft's Magazine of Horror. She is this year's recipient of the Lydia Langstaff Memorial Prize and in her spare time enjoys reading, playing guitar, costuming, and gourmet cooking. To contact her, email firstname.lastname@example.org.