The Passed Note Issue 5 October 2017 | Page 49

this one. The miniscule pine needles, the precisely laid chimney stones, the bright red cardinal on a snow-fringed branch: the details were beautiful.

“How about that window there? See the Christmas tree?”

“Oh, my God, it looks like it’s twinkling.” Alice frowned and leaned in closer. She’d swear that tree did twinkle. In fact, the lamp in the upstairs window glowed pretty realistically, too. Huh. Maybe the company that had made the brochure doctored up the photographs. Or maybe the snow globe was battery-operated...

“Can you imagine spending the winter in this kind of place? The sledding would be awesome.”

Without taking her eyes off the globe, Alice nodded slowly. Penny’s question reminded her of all of the times they’d played outside in the snow—building forts, catching snowflakes on their tongues, laughing. She remembered Penny’s peculiar booming laugh, how the sound thundered in the chilly air and formed clouds around her face, almost as if she were singlehandedly fashioning the wintry weather.

“No sledding around here.”

Alice sighed. “No.” The land off Lake Ontario spread evenly for miles, a feature ideal for farming, but not for sledding. Alice gazed wistfully at the snow globe’s undulating terrain. Her and Penny’s town was boring, predictable, just orchards, orchards, and more orchards—and so tediously, endlessly flat. As flat, she thought with a zap of vicious pleasure, as Madison’s chest.

“Well, that’s the last snow globe.” Penny whipped the brochure off the table. As she folded it with brisk efficiency, she continued, “Each comes with a certificate of authenticity, signed by the artist. And the price includes shipping and handling.”