The Event - Imagination

In my mind's eye I see her,
hands full, a marshmallow in each
to test their squishy softness
before stuffing them into her chubby cheeks.

Everything's sticky:
her hands, her face,
the front of her jacket,
even her hair
because it fell like a curtain
across her face until
she brushed it impatiently aside.

She marches
around the corrugated fire ring,
licking her fingers and mostly
just making a mess.
When she steps in a hole
in that uneven ground, her hands
come up to try and catch herself

as
she
f
        a
                l
                        l
                                s

Her hands sink
into the remnants of the campfire:
soft ashy white and
black glowing coals.

Someone is screaming.

Mom scoops her up pulls off her jacket and runs to the house through the doors and into the kitchen
turns on the cold water that's not cold enough because her hands her hands her hands are screaming.