Spin: Flames

The radio played, “The Bones,” a song Miguel had learned to ignore. It had played and played and every time the radio was turned on, it played again.

Only one line held any interest for him: “The house don’t fall when the bones are good.” What it meant, he didn’t know or understand.

He chewed his perfectly buttered and jellied toast, turning the sentence over in his mind. Key words hung in his brain, house, fall, bones, good. An image flashed through his broken brain, the dome melting.

“What’s a supernova?” he asked his surprised Madre.

She couldn’t help crying.