sarahyuki
It was lucky that she often wore long sleeve shirts. This has been her first time doing it, and she hoped it would be her last as well. But as much as she regretted it, the scars wouldn't disappear just like that. So she tugged desperately at the ends of her sleeves, and hid the marks, like nothing was wrong.
Normally, she wasn't someone I would be attracted to. She was blonde, which somehow always bothered me, and she wore far too much make-up. But, there's one little thing about that was just so charming: a tiny little mole just beneath her left hole. I couldn't quite explain it if you asked me to, but it made this girl, who I would otherwise be uninterested in, seem so adorable.
I had a hard time communicating with her most of the time. She talked very slowly and laboriously, like a robot, and I feared she had some sort of disorder because it seems she didn't understand what was socially acceptable and what wasn't. However, she seemed very fond of me and I couldn't find it in me to leave her alone.
His chubby little index finger, covered in slobber, slowly approached the electrical outlet. His other other index finger sat between his lips, as he nibbled on it in quiet anticipation, unaware of the consequences of what he was about to do.
He told me that I was a very 'sage' young lady. Having only taken half a year of French class up to that point, I hadn't known what he meant, and was trying to figure out what he could've meant by relating me to an herb.
I put the cards down on the table, and stared at him from across the table.
"This isn't right. We're playing cards while...while she's dying," I pleaded, balling my hand up into a fist.
He just looked through me impassively, like I wasn't even talking, and looked back at his cards.