Author S. K. Nicholas

Through several inches of snow, the animals swim as she curls into a ball beneath the harsh winter sun. That mouth of hers, I dread to think of what it’s come in contact with over the years. All those boys she used to hang around; those clumsy attempts at womanhood when she was still just a girl. She has a peculiar scent, one of sadness mixed with days-old sex that clings to her clothes like a perfume. Not unduly unpleasant, it entices the same old faces, and for a while, it puts a smile on her face. Only the inevitable breakdown happens, and soon after, self-worth crumbles just like that smile. When drunk, she proclaims that sex is empowering, but really, it’s the only way she can get back at her dad. It’s sad, so sad I turn my back and flick my cigarette into the road. We always seem to be trying to escape from something. Unpleasant childhoods, a lack of money, or maybe the shame of merely being human in a universe that cares little for such organic mistakes. I find solace in the taste of wine and remaining at arms length from those around me. It helps to stimulate my imagination, and it helps the words flow like melting ice from the tips of magnificent trees. To be in control of my voice makes up for being so disinterested with what I’m told I should seek above all else. Walking the rim of the quarry, the pages of my book form in my mind. They flutter like leaves that dance in the wind. So many years not knowing, but at last, there seems to be something. It’s been there all the time, only now do I have the ability to trace its features that so closely resemble the way she looked like as a child.