Marrianne

Marrianne was an angel from another galaxy. Violet-skinned and silver, pointed teeth. Her form vaguely holographic, I could stick my arm right through her and it would come out the other side. She was better than all my friends at any board game and her analysis of classic movies was always spot on.

I wanted to coax Marrianne into staying with me forever. I bought her expensive gifts, but all precious minerals were common to her. I gave her the finest foods we had to offer, but her tastebuds were fashioned for different flavors than those found on earth. (The only flavor of ours she could discern was anise, and she drank a lot of Absinthe, but alcohol had no intoxicating effect on her.) I showed her that I was wealthy enough to provide for her, offered her a home anywhere she liked–the mountains, the desert, a ship on the ocean, but she didn’t want to stay in one place.

When I awoke, I knew she was gone. I was sure I’d merely dreamed her up, an amalgamation of the girl from the grocery store, crime-fighting super heroines, and my sister’s best friend from high school. Missed opportunities, drudgery and the atomic bomb, taking her away from me a little more each day with every shallow breath and every new shampoo commercial.