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Psych OutFingers lacing between frozen cubes and ducking underneath chilled water with more speed then grace, a small seed was salvaged from the glass and tossed unceremoniously onto a plate. Her lips pursed and a small smile shifted into place. "Gotchya."
The lemon now officially and fully removed, her hand clasped the tea and brought it up to her lips, the cool drink sloshing down her throat with gusto. "Thirsty?" the man asked, watching a stray drop of water race down the cup and hesitate upon reaching the bottom.
She set it down, nodded mutely, and picked up her pencil. Back to the notebook. He sighed, an errant finger moving to twist his straw in small circles. "I brought you out here so we could hang out."
She shrugged, scribbling with a catalystic fury. "You know...as a family, " he pressed. A faint, immeasurable pause, a stutter of the pen, she was writing again. He waited, a slow disintegration of hope crumbling from his features. "Still mad, huh?"
Her nod wasn't exactly necessa
MemoriesI tucked my feet over the scrunchy blanket, watching as a tall man set his red ice chest down in front of us and settled on top of it. The skin of his bare back looked red and blistered from the heat of the sun, and he glittered in a shiny sort of way that made me blink in the sparkles of light that reflected off of the simmering chain around his neck.
He was fascinating, somehow. Those blue shorts, bald head, white bandanna I was reluctant, at first, to take my eyes off of him and his red cooler. But my father's persistence broke through and I eventually turned to follow the direction of his finger. With reassurance, I glanced back at the man still there.
Assured that my new find would not leave me I glanced back at the sky where a plane hovered in the middle of the air. I cocked my head to the side, waiting for it to move and jump across the sky, like all airplanes did. But this one hovered in place, impossibly sitting perfectly still. Didn't planes have to move in order
Scrub a Dub DubI slapped the already half-wet and green-powdery towel down on the floor next to me, happy to unlock my fingers from the mucky prison of fabric. In my fingers I toyed with a bottle of Comet, staring with resolute despair at the task before me.
Worth it I tried to reassure myself, the money from this goes to a starving child in Africa. You do want to make a difference, don't you?
I growled, more at my situation then anything else. Clean the bathrooms, they'd said. It's the last thing you'll have to do and then we'll send the money. Well, poop. I never thought they'd let it get so dirty!
Adults were supposed to keep the sink clear of nose hair clippings, not freckle the blue tiles with hundreds of the little monsters. My mom claims to be a clean freak, and yet who was left scrubbing the grime out of her bathtub? Me. All me!
And now only the shower remains. I took a shaky breath and yanked the door open in front, watching the glass wobble fo
Four MinutesThe bell rung around grueling layers of blackened smoke and defeated soldiers lifted their heads when the crackling of a speaker sparkled across the room and grated against the walls in its customary message, "Tick tock, tick tock, look alive, everyone! Four minutes! Tick tock, tick tock!"
Hunching their shoulders and grasping for a new item, the men slaved on, ignoring those frantic words with the flick of a hand. "Four minutes four hours ago." One would mutter solemnly as frozen fingers chased the edge of a box across the line. "Four minutes four days ago." Another would whisper against the cooling edge of a great machine. "F-four minutes four months ago." The daft would stammer as he watched the result of their work pump into the back of truck after truck.
The broken do not speak. They do not need to say it, because the words already echo around the rotting room, engrave into the soot and the muck and the very machines that control them. Four years, it screams, four centur
FaultsMy fingers twitched
Lacing around the pile of
What is this doing?
Cake across my face
As if trying to hide
All the things left inside
Get rid of it?
How else will I see
The battle scars of my life
Reflected in the mirror?
Tells a story
Of my mother
And my father
I will not try to erase it
Or hide it behind a mask
If I do that
Then I am lost
My memory grows week
The days passing over
Those things that made me stronger
This 'fault' is my path
A pock in my
Do not shroud it
It is mine
I will not hide
From what is inside
I will not despise
The marks of my life
They are me
And I am beautiful
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