Twenty Seven
She stood, her
feet parted in a
defensive stance, her
hands pressed to the
glass. Her blonde hair
was thick with
orange and
black stripes,
the curve of her back a
billboard for someone else’s
name,
written white on
black. There were
tears in her eyes, thick
and hopeful, as she
looked through the glass, as
she read the letters
over and over,
her body still save for the
jerking movement
of her pupils, and the
thrum of her heart
beat.
Copyright 2008, Christina Smith
~*~
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