you got straight a's while i was writing fairytales
i don't know what this is. but i'm really digging past-tense this year.
i am, she said, not like other girls. the skin at her wrist was pulled back, so you could see the veins and the blood glowing faintly. her palm was pressed across this wound but the red leaked out.
"i know," i told her. my eyes would not, could not, leave her face.
in her eyes was a faint clockwork shimmer, liquid green like something radioactive. you really don't, she said. but there was something very close to a smile curving across her lips. have you ever saved the world?
"i recycle," i said. it was strange, to be talking to her. there was a large cut across her eyebrow, stopping just above her eyelid. the blood was mostly dried but occasionally little droplets oozed out. "do you -- need a bandaid?"
give it time, she told me, tolerant and amused. her hair was matted and dark red, either out of a bottle or out of plastic. she raised the injured hand to tuck a clump of it behind her ear. the one thing we never have enough of.
we were sitting on the steps at the back of the school, looking out at the basketball courts. all the marching had gone in the opposite direction, but there were signs stuck in my head, go home and back to the factory and i bit my lip, couldn't breathe. i looked away from her, from the delicate curve of her pale-skinned cheek, lines drawn in smeared red.
someone had left a ball in the corner of the court, in their hurry to join the march or to get out. it cast a little shadow, noteable only because it was the only distinct thing in that whole mass of bland grey concrete.
her shirt had a hole in it, a tear ripped right over the place where her heart would be, if you got deep enough. it certainly looked as if someone had tried: the skin there was an ugly mess stuck to and staining the white edges of her shirt.
i used to draw hearts on my wrist, she said, noticing my eyes. that was probably less of a good idea than i thought.
"i'm sorry," i said.
i've always wanted to fly, she told me.
"i have terrible vertigo," i said, "that's never really been a thing for me."
she tilted her head up to look, consideringly, at the sky. something clicked in her neck and i had to look away from the garish brightness of things that were supposed to stay within the skin. then, she said, slowly, as if it did not matter, then what do you want?
i shrugged. "i don't know. a doughnut."
at that she laughed, a little startled sound, a burst of noise boned with delight and laced with surprise. see, she said, taking the restraining palm off her wrist, i told you so. the skin there was unblemished, alabaster-clear.
"where are you going to go?" i asked.
she blinked. "i don't know," she said. "i've heard swimming can be like flying, if you try hard enough, and i've never been to the ocean." her voice was warm but slightly rusty with disuse.
she did not have freckles, despite the red hair and the green eyes. i decided that would be what i would tell them, when they came.
i am, she said, not like other girls. the skin at her wrist was pulled back, so you could see the veins and the blood glowing faintly. her palm was pressed across this wound but the red leaked out.
"i know," i told her. my eyes would not, could not, leave her face.
in her eyes was a faint clockwork shimmer, liquid green like something radioactive. you really don't, she said. but there was something very close to a smile curving across her lips. have you ever saved the world?
"i recycle," i said. it was strange, to be talking to her. there was a large cut across her eyebrow, stopping just above her eyelid. the blood was mostly dried but occasionally little droplets oozed out. "do you -- need a bandaid?"
give it time, she told me, tolerant and amused. her hair was matted and dark red, either out of a bottle or out of plastic. she raised the injured hand to tuck a clump of it behind her ear. the one thing we never have enough of.
we were sitting on the steps at the back of the school, looking out at the basketball courts. all the marching had gone in the opposite direction, but there were signs stuck in my head, go home and back to the factory and i bit my lip, couldn't breathe. i looked away from her, from the delicate curve of her pale-skinned cheek, lines drawn in smeared red.
someone had left a ball in the corner of the court, in their hurry to join the march or to get out. it cast a little shadow, noteable only because it was the only distinct thing in that whole mass of bland grey concrete.
her shirt had a hole in it, a tear ripped right over the place where her heart would be, if you got deep enough. it certainly looked as if someone had tried: the skin there was an ugly mess stuck to and staining the white edges of her shirt.
i used to draw hearts on my wrist, she said, noticing my eyes. that was probably less of a good idea than i thought.
"i'm sorry," i said.
i've always wanted to fly, she told me.
"i have terrible vertigo," i said, "that's never really been a thing for me."
she tilted her head up to look, consideringly, at the sky. something clicked in her neck and i had to look away from the garish brightness of things that were supposed to stay within the skin. then, she said, slowly, as if it did not matter, then what do you want?
i shrugged. "i don't know. a doughnut."
at that she laughed, a little startled sound, a burst of noise boned with delight and laced with surprise. see, she said, taking the restraining palm off her wrist, i told you so. the skin there was unblemished, alabaster-clear.
"where are you going to go?" i asked.
she blinked. "i don't know," she said. "i've heard swimming can be like flying, if you try hard enough, and i've never been to the ocean." her voice was warm but slightly rusty with disuse.
she did not have freckles, despite the red hair and the green eyes. i decided that would be what i would tell them, when they came.