Gill
"Again?", she cried in anguish as the sky exploded into a trillion, separately identifiable, but nameless colours. I just had "Hands". What about "Brakes"? Is this website not going to let me write about that but only "Hands". Where is the variety? How is it that others have managed to access the helicopter with the brakes and the whatever else is on the next page. Me, all I get is hands, hands, hands. I would hand it to you and request you give me a hand, but all I can do is hand it over to the other side.
Hands are delicate. Hands are tools. Hands have little aliens living inside them. The finger moves,, joints fidget, and stars are born in galaxies far away. They trundle on, moving, undulating, redshifting, both galaxies and fingers, hands moving, creating the next layer of the universe.