Sarah and Trudy

"I wanted to go shopping today, said Trudy, staring at the ceiling. Sarah shifted in her chair, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, shopping, continued Trudy, "in a huge mall with every shop you could ever think of. With jewellery and hats and monkeys. If you wanted a monkey, that is.

Trudy was only wearing one shoe. "I'd like to buy red ones. Or blue, with sequins.

Sarah sighed, stretched each leg in turn, got up and strode into the kitchen. The fridge hadn't worked for four days now; it let off a sour smell, as two cartons of Philadelphia cheese nurtured spores.
She returned to the living room and joined Trudy on the sofa, putting her arms round her friend, who had no sweater.

"I wanted a pony, came Trudy's voice from Sarah's shoulder.

The air was the coldest it had been yet. Sarah shivered, and wrapped herself more closely to Trudy.

Later, Sarah left Trudy asleep on the sofa. She walked through every room in the house, trailing her hand over the walls, the doors, cataloguing the solid and the tangible.
There were sirens outside. Sarah watched police cars speed past the window, squinting. She had been looking for Trudy's missing shoe, but it hadn't revealed itself. She slipped downstairs again

and found the living room door closed. Concentrating, she pushed her body through the wood, starting with her fingers, her palms, her wrists, which were the most difficult.

In the living room she found two men taking down the boards from the windows.
A beam of light fell on Trudy, bursting through her chest to reveal a patch of the sofa behind.
Sarah watched silently as the men rested the boards through the half-transparent body of her beautiful, sleeping Trudy.

The fridge clicked into life again. The living room was full of light.