Dreams
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The postman’s nose even resembled a beak, and, if she remembers correctly, his teeth, all stained and crocked, were as big as giant paving slabs. That morning, on her doorstep, she crossed her arms over her breasts to prevent his bulging eyes seeing anything more. It was the first time she had ever done such… Read more
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The river shimmers in her mind. Her memory of its blue and green cosmic surface colouring everything she sees, and for a moment, she returns to her safe place; a place that helped her through the turbulent years of puberty. Not that her life has been anything less than turbulent since then, but at least… Read more
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A plethora of colour catches her eye. She doesn’t know their names, but each shade carries with it a memory of some moment in her life that touched her sultry soul. Some of the memories she considers life-changing, while others seem to have persisted for reasons she can’t decipher. It’s strange how these small, superfluous… Read more
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Picturing the sun-blasted pieces of sand that are in reality trillions upon trillions of tiny rocks, she can’t shake the image of Jasmine Rouge’s menstrual blood. Nor does she want to. It spins in her head like a washing machine; like millions of gallons of seawater dissapearing down a maelstrom. Licking her lips, she imagines… Read more
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The yellow tube of paint has a specific name. It’s a catchy one, too. Very exotic. To others, it holds importance, but not to Gretchen, for she has no interest in the names of different tones and hues, nor does she care for which hues are cold, and which ones are warm. The science behind… Read more
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Sucking on her cigarette until her asthmatic lungs burn like bacon, she coughs and splutters before gingerly getting to her feet. Her feet, bare from having earlier removed her shoes, are covered in paint. Walking in circles, she smiles at the footprints she leaves as if she were leaving them not in paint but fresh… Read more
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He’s perfectly polite, silently seedy, and yet altogether underwhelming. Gretchen thinks it’s the politeness that offends her the most. If he were more open with his seediness, she’d be more inclined to listen to his words and engage with him, but as it is, he’s one of those guys you just know is holding it… Read more
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On one such occasion, her father painted her face so that she resembled a tiger. She still has the photo, somewhere; a selfie he shot of her balancing on his shoulders, shrieking with a mixture of fear and elation as her fingers scratched at the cigarette-stained ceiling above her head. To tease her mother, he… Read more
