There once was a little girl who barely spoke. But when the word bubble popped from her mouth, smiles formed on everyone's around her.
Becoming less and less spontaneous: the coaxing and pleading echoed until she despised bubbles.
Unable to escape, they formed every where--over her feet, her chest, the cheese on her pizza, the plastic on her poncho. One day her tongue was covered by the bubbles she left unsaid.
What if she never uttered another word? Would she disappear?
Her brother would say, "I have a family minus a sister." The sun would not cast her shadow across the black streets. The sheets would no longer wrinkle under her body.
Except one day she felt an elephant fall from her lips. She spun around, fearing the ears surrounding her.
No one stopped but in the distance an outline of tusks and ears and a long trunk formed. She curled herself into a ball and floated toward the clouds. Popping like a bubble on a tree branch.