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Riki
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Fiyori's palm extended to her chin, which she began to scratch. The other played drums with her left temple. She wondered why her face was so unusually wet.

"When I was, four or five years old, or maybe younger, Ma and Pa took me and went on a trip. Somewhere sad and cold, I think. Washington, got an old friend of the family living there."

She paused talking for a moment, scanning the horizon for nothing in particular.

"Well, no. At that point he wasn't living there. Because he was dead you know. Don't what it was, but Pa said there was a big funeral or something. Really formal event, had to wear some dumb... uh, yea, some dumb pant suit. But, for children."

Fiyori paused again, this time she chuckled for herself. The image of a tiny Fiyori waddling about in some Angela Merkel cosplay was funny. Even if the reality of it wasn't the hilarity Fiyori imagined.

"So yea, we were there, in that pretty church up north in our pretty clothes. Anyway, while everyone was wailing or crying or something, I felt a bit different. A bit more poopy, if you get me. So, I was like, I need to go poop. I said that to my parents. And they were like, of course! You have to go poop, you go poop. So they showed me the toiled and I was a big girl so I went all alone.

"Then there I was, in that bathroom. I finished my business, and then started wiping. And now we get to the good part. I was wiping, and suddenly the piece of toiler paper wasn't there anymore. Like, you have to imagine. You're standing there, minding your own shit and suddenly you're lacking the paper you just held a moment ago. And you're like, 'what the fuck', because you were so sure you just held it but then you didn't. And it wasn't in the toilet. For a moment I was afraid it slipped into a leg of pants or anything while they were down, but that wasn't true either. Looked over the floor, didn't find it there.

"Really strange, I tell you. Fucked with my mind hard. For years I was puzzled about that piece of toilet paper that just vanished."

Fiyori rocked back and forth a very little. Her hands had returned to rest on her pants - also suspiciously wet - and she studied the dirt under her finger nails absentmindedly.

"I'd had hoped there was a point to this story. I think it's safe to say that there isn't."

Finally, Fiyori turned her head to look at Nate.

"I don't want to go home. I want more.

"Nate, do you?"
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Rivers in the Desert · The Rooftop