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I.

She wore striped leggings and combat boots, laced to her knees. Fingerless gloves on her delicate hands and welder glasses as a headband, pushing back her hooker-red hair. She left imprints in the flowers and the snow.
            He was lying on his back. His ink-stained fingers grasped her ankle as she walked past his hiding spot.   ( Read more... )

I stare at the blackboard- littered with hastily scrawled numbers and partially erased equations. I am lulled by the lines of my notebook paper and by the voice speaking, what seems to me, utter nonsense.
            Suddenly, I am falling. Not physically- I still sit slouched in my desk, curls in face- but mentally. It is not a free fall (though ( Read more... )

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