She tumbled down the stairs head-first, neck snapping back on the last step. The impact should’ve killed her, but the wood felt spongy, forgiving. The foyer floor rippled like cake batter. Every picture frame on the wall now showed the same image: Sarah lying exactly where she was, eyes open, mouth sewn shut with red ribbon. The ribbon was moving, stitching itself tighter in real time. She clawed at her lips; the thread was already under her skin. From the living room came the sound of party horns. She crawled toward the noise because crawling away felt impossible. The rug sucked at her knees like frosting. A single red balloon drifted past, tied with a hospital bracelet: SARAH REED — DO NOT RESUSCITATE.
