psicadet
She always looked up at him with bewildered eyes, immediately scanning how his pale skin stretched and contoured across muscle and bone, how his patterned jumpers always seemed one size too large, and reminding herself to cut his hair soon.
She often found herself with her head back and softly smiling up to him when he conversed briefly with others, writing over notes about how he would tremble and waiver in volume when speaking to others, all the while awkwardly holding his own hands and twiddled with his fingers and desperately trying to not initiate eye contact.
For her, unlike others, his bumbling height was the last thing to come to mind. When he had grew so quickly, she often asked him out of slight disbelief, "Are you sure you're not hiding stilts under your trousers?", and he would shoot it down with a retort. At the time, it was as if she was too short, and he was fastly becoming too tall.
She screwed up her face and wrinkled her nose in a futile attempt to stop her tears forming. Why was she so unable to complete any artwork? Where had her motivation gone? The artist clenched her forearms and then relaxed as she sobbed. This piece meant so much to her, so where had her will run off to?
She lifted up the hefty mollusk and shook it a little, putting her ear against the cold shell. Hearing water slosh about inside, she drained it and attempted again. A large smile, out of satisfaction, spread across her face as she witnessed the wind whispering in her ear, spilling its secrets. It was too bad that it's words were incomprehensible to humans.
The stumpy child skipped merrily into the butcher's, her eyes darting from place to place, glancing at cow carcasses strung up by cable, incomprehensible signs and appropriately cuts of meat packaged in shrink-wrap, neatly arranged on the sterile and white shelves.
She took the liberty of inhaling as deep as she could, taking in the rich scents of raw and cooked meat alike. Her red, tacky and glittery twinkled and scintillated as she spun towards the counter, pirouetting several times before coming to a standstill.
The glass countertop showcased what Mr. Joel's specials were today, small cards with scruffy writing sitting before the trays indicating what they were. She couldn't read at 4 years old, but from her adequate bank of meaty knowledge, she deciphered that there was lamb, beef, and something else.
Where was Joel?, she thought. He was always at a counter, preparing one thing or another.
Two sat inside a library, one drawing whilst intently listening to her friend's attempts to coach her into learning the basics of written Korean.
She paused for a second and apologised, and began conversing with a sibling on another table nearby. The silent one of the duo kept her head low and silenced her breathing, even more than usual, and delicately hung onto her friend's every syllable.
She was speaking Nepali with her 5'8" brother and occasionally let out a strange sound, often accompanied by giggles. The artist's insides warmed when she heard her laugh, not out of romance or attraction, but, only basked in her soft radiance. She stole glimpses of her foreign friend's rounded-square face from behind a curtain beyond-shoulder length, ash blonde hair.
The artist flinched when she started to speak in English towards her again.
Two sat inside a library, one drawing and one conversing with a sibling on another table nearby. The silent one of the duo kept her head low and silenced her breathing, even more than usual, and delicately hung onto her friend's every syllable.
She was speaking Nepali with her 5'8" brother and occasionally let out a strange sound, usually accompanied by giggles. The artist's insides warmed when she heard her laugh, not out of romance or attraction, but, she only was basking in soft radiance. She stole glimpses from behind a curtain beyond-shoulder length, ash blonde hair.
The artist flinched when she started to speak in English towards her again.
The shadow slipped through the smallest of crevices and almost travelled without being detected, if only nobody sensed and knew of his terror. Where the hell is she?, he commonly thought and tried to scream before remembering his lack-of-face bore no mouth. He lost her constantly and was starting to become very desperate, so much so that his consumption rate of others had increased almost threefold. His coldness made him numb to the trail of warmth she always left behind her, and it seemed to cool and vanish before he could uncover it and track her down.
The shadow slipped through the smallest of crevices and almost travelled without being detected, if only nobody sensed and knew of his terror. Where the fuck is she?, he commonly thought and tried to scream before remembering his lack-of-face bore no mouth. He lost her constantly and was starting to become very desperate, so much so that his consumption rate of others had increased almost threefold. His coldness made him numb to the trail of warmth she left unwillingly left behind her seemed to cool and vanish before he could uncover it.
The shadow slipped through the smallest of crevices and travelled almost without being uncovered, if nobody sensed and knew of his terror. Where in the fuck is she?, he commonly attempted to scream, soon remembering his lack-of-face bore no mouth. He constantly lost her and was becoming very desperate, so much so that his consumption rate of others had increased almost threefold . Even the trail of warmth she unwillingly left behind her seemed to cool and vanish before he could detect it.
He almost fell over his own feet as he entered the living room and caught sight of a man clad in business attire, hung from a ledge in their house. A hand of his own flew to his mouth in alarment and felt every muscle contract within his lanky frame, too afraid to confirm whether he had Left or not. Instead, he felt his eyes snap and dart about, stopping when the pair of square-lensed glasses hanging from the corpse’s fingertips came into view. “D-dad?”