alexbobnichols
wind and wind on, the reel shines in the dull attic light. she pulls at the film, gripping her claws in playtime, kicking her feet at the new toy, rolling in dust and lost in the made up game .
blank page. staring. waiting. not coming. the lines takes a waves crest, running over her vision like a slow-building tsunami, swamping her brain before the real test of survival in the flooded lands of academic nonsense.
"it's over."
i looked her in the eye. i didnt believe her.
"suuure," i said sarcastically.
she slammed the door.