The dam broke. The sludge flowed into the side-channel, where it would be dissolved and forgotten. The pressure eased. The House of Ribs sighed.
The heartbeat never missed a beat. But deep in the vault of the chest, three tiny, tireless musicians played on. They didn’t know about love, or fear, or the fragile, furious miracle of their own existence. lub and dub sound
“Catch,” Dub would reply, snapping shut like a valve. “Push. Catch. Push. Catch.” The dam broke
“Go that way,” the tiny voice gasped. “Around the jam!” The House of Ribs sighed
And as long as they played it, the world above would keep spinning.
Panic was a foreign sensation, but it flooded their world like cold tar. Something was in the river. Little rafts of chalk and fat, rogue travelers that should have been swept away to the far shores of the liver and lungs. Instead, they were damming the stream.