He often forgets since that day when he fell when the boy next door pushed her against the fake-wood cabinet, his hard hand against her shoulder and one between her legs, her not-watched brother falling with an odd thump of landing on the ground in his white-sheet super-hero cape. Still they say it was not the landing but the gas and the over-five-minutes counting of death that makes him forget. Birth, copulation and death, Laura's English teacher once said, it is what we all share. Her brother is ahead of her having already been once dead. He has a slip of paper in a pocket of all his pants written on it is his name and address.
Perhaps he will never come out.
-- Laura! her friends below shout one-two-three.
She will be there forever, the sun burning her back.