I Knew an Eggshell

I went to open mic night and read names of off-white paint to a crowd of espresso drinkers. They clicked in frenzy, their teeth stained Bone as I whispered “Alabaster, Gypsum. Pacific Pearl.”

Just winking grays and purples in disguise.

The morning Sara checked into a center outside Calypso, I spent three minutes staring at the whites of my eyes. How many drinks did it take to change into a color that made you stop? Was it Aurelian, like yellowed wallpaper? Or Eggshell, a warning?

Not Eggshell, everyone rolled their eyes at Eggshell.

Boring, they said, but not a problem.

Salena Casha’s work has appeared in over 50 publications in the last decade. You can find her recent words over on Bending Genres, FlashBack Fiction, Scrawl Place, and Rejection Letters. She survives New England winters on black coffee and good beer. Follow her on Twitter @salaylay_c. Website: salenacasha.wixsite.com/salena-casha.