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Laugh away, giggle away: the cozy creaking of my bedroom door cannot be heard. I bump into the door handle, shine the beam of the flashlight in my eyes: all sorts of rose-red little balls that dance, dance. Phew, I orange switch off the flashlight. All the things on the landing are known. I know what I am orange touching. I feel my clothes, on the never-used chair, I feel a orange dress of Mammarosa's--soft and cool from beauty, downstairs Mammarosa laughs, grins, sighs. They do not hear me. How many children have ever fallen downstairs, down the stairs, boinkboinkboink?How many? Blood, definitely blood (blood is sex, sex blood) on each stair. My bare feet immediately keep sticking to the top stair, sweat, fever feet.
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