(Fiction) Purest Prose Entry: She Knows She Must See First Before She Can Speak
She has keyholes for eyes and mouth, cavities she still dresses with cosmetics. Seated at her vanity table, she outlines her mouth with oxblood-colored lipstick. Her reflection is still a ghoulish clown, but she has never been barefaced in her life.
Reaching into her drawer for blush, she grabs, instead, a key. In surprise, she has clutched it so tightly that the blade's notches have bitten her palm like rat teeth.
The key rests on her palms, waits in her hands. It is small, but so heavy with temptation.
Hesitantly, she aims the key at her weeping right eye.
Reaching into her drawer for blush, she grabs, instead, a key. In surprise, she has clutched it so tightly that the blade's notches have bitten her palm like rat teeth.
The key rests on her palms, waits in her hands. It is small, but so heavy with temptation.
Hesitantly, she aims the key at her weeping right eye.