Black-eyed Girl

We lie side by side on her bed, on top of the covers. She reaches over and starts to slowly caress the back of my hand in very small circles. Her touch is hesitant so I turn my hand toward hers and reciprocate the caress; our fingertips blindly fumble in discovery of each other. I do not look at her but instead try to decipher her room. The walls are mustard yellow and pin-ups of film and television hunks, most of them without their shirts on, smile condescendingly at me. I cringe. Cower actually. There is a plain wooden desk in one corner of the room. The paint is chipped and peeled and the corner closest to me is broken off. Cheap looking ornaments litter the desk, and though it is tempting to think initially that they have just been carelessly scattered, I realise after looking at them for a while that they are in fact very purposely placed. Brightly coloured fairies, a glass mermaid, an emotionally devastated troll and frogs of varying sizes, shapes and colours seem to teeter on the brink of a delicate dance about to commence that will change the nature of their existences. I look into the dirty mirror hanging on the wall.
“I think it just kicked in,” I say, looking into her massive pupils.
“Yeah,” she says back. “Me too.”


3 thoughts on “Black-eyed Girl

  1. Evelyn

    Andrew, this is the motherfucking shit right here. I love this.
    I do think its funny that you used frogs, fairies and mermaids in two pieces in a row.
    Funny as in fucking awesome.


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