She’s six and she’s flying.
She’s never been on a plane, she’s never left the country. She sees them above while she’s playing in the sandbox in the playground and she nnneeaoowwws along with them, jumping up with joy. She tears down the road and back up again, her arms flap behind her and her face shines. Continue reading “Flying”
She looked down from the window of the castle. Down at the destruction that she’d caused. At the broken dead bodies littered all over the streets. At the rivers of blood streaming down the ridges of the stones of the streets. At the fallen cracked brick and stone buildings along the streets. At the tears running down the faces of the newly orphaned children, the newly widowed wives and the newly childless parents. At the fallen trees, some brutally ripped into half, dull green leaves scattered all over the ground. Continue reading “Queen”
She was five and a family had just moved in next door in the big blue house that had been empty since the last family moved out.
Her father, like the hospitable person he was, decided to take a basket of goodies next door the next day and pulled her along with him. They walked across the lawn, she holding her dad’s hand like the good girl she was. They climbed up the steps of the wide porch in the front of the house and she got on her tip toes and knocked on the door. A girl of around the same age as her opened the door, grinning, her green eyes lit up with excitement. Her dad introduced himself and her. The girl introduced herself, sticking out a paint- covered hand. She took it, smiling and she called out for her dad. Walking back home, she was jumping with the joy of having made a new friend. Continue reading “Youth”
As she squeezes some moisturizer in her hand, she ponders.
She uses makeup as an armour against the harsh, cruel world.
She applies primer to her face, setting herself. Makeup helps her get through the day with her head held high, giving her the extra boost of confidence she needs.
Primer, check. Continue reading “Armour”
Well, technically prom starts in two hours, but it’s all the same to him.
He’s not going. It’s not that he couldn’t find a date or anything; his girlfriend was very willing to take him. But it’s just that he’s very against the whole idea of prom. All the dresses and the decorations and the flowers. All the corsages and limos and tuxedos. It’s all so materialistic and so quintessentially high school that he can’t help but hate it. Continue reading “Prom”