the smuggler’s bible


The door opens inward at a push—at the simple thought of a push—spilling snow across the threshold. It’s dark inside. The far wall appears to be made of glass. Gisela sees her reflection framed in the doorway by the dim forest starlight.

She stops and reaches up with one hand to pull a ribbon from her hair, then drapes it carefully over a tree branch. She’s aware that nobody will come looking, but it seems tremendously important that something remains to mark her passage.

Two small steps, that’s all it takes, and the door closes quietly behind her.