Pot and Soo stood at the edge of a cliff. They were looking for the way, but there was only down.

“Let’s play a choking game,” said Pot.   

“I have heard of that,” said Soo, and allowed Pot’s fingers to wring her neck. Pot twisted Soo’s neck but her head would not come off. The game ended.

Pot and Soo stared into the abyss. The abyss stared back into them. 

They threw a chicken into the abyss. Nothing came back. Fucking abyss.

“We could turn around and get our old jobs back at the tire burning plant!” said Pot. They glanced backwards at the stinky smoke rising, their friends in hard hats, mustaches burnt off their faces.

“They make it look so easy!” cried Soo, wistfully, as she yanked out her eye lashes one by one. It was the only way she could cry anymore.

“Well,” said Pot, and he jumped off the cliff into the abyss. Soo watched him tumble down with her naked eyes, without a tear left to shed.

Pot hit the bottom of the abyss and exploded. 

“Wow, he’s really done something with his life!” said Soo, a little jealous.

Soo bit down on her fingernail and yanked the whole thing off the finger-bed. It hurt so bad, she cried one hundred tears. And she still had nine other fingernails to go. Soo was so grateful.

Soo turned back to the tire burning factory to show her friends all she had done.

Mary Crosbie lives in Brooklyn. She has a BA from the University of Toronto, but a masters in cats! Her work was in the Matrix Magazine, and her story, "Witch Holes," will be in the Quotable. Check out www.marycrosbie.com if you are not up to anything after reading this.