dormiveglia
“I think books are like people, in the sense that they’ll turn up in your life when you most need them.”
The girl sat at the big oval desk and placed her pens on her right side. She was left-handed and preferred to reach across for the tools. She looked out of her right eye. Blue. Pink. Purple. Lime Green. Yellow. The pink was so pale it was hard to read and the blue so dark it didn’t match the pastel.
Why do rainbows appear?
The girl hadn’t showered in a week. Her hair was oily and fell in thick strands on her shoulders. There was no one around to smell the musky scent of her scalp. If she scratched her head, big chunks of white filled the space between her nail and finger.
Why is the light so scattered?
The girl selected the lime green pen. She was trapped between languages, so she drew scribbles and chewed her tongue between her teeth. Food was not appropriate; it just came back up. So the girl gnawed pen lids, earphone wires and the end of a plastic flower.
Why do things need to be separated for us to see what they are?
The girl drew until her eyes itched. She had large dark rings under her eyes. She felt misshapen. Ugly. She pulled the petals off the artificial blossom. If only her freedom could be that easy. She needed a hand to pull her feathers off. She didn't know anyone with strength large enough.
She taped the portrait over the mirror when it was complete.
When she stripped in front of the mirror, she felt good about the person she was becoming. Yellow eyes. Purple lips. Green blob.
When it rained, the girl felt part of something and took it as a sign that it was time to wash herself off and start over.
Photo source.
