Saturday, 18 August 2012

Dirty Canvas




“I wanted to rip his mouth off,” He says, bending to whisper in Cynthia’s ear. She turns to him, not question on her face.
“Didn’t you? When he kissed your hand? It was creepy.”
Cynthia copies one of his favourite movements and shrugs.
He turns to her. “Is it always like that? They just touch you? Wherever they want?”
“Yes.” When he pulls back she continues. “Should they not? I don’t know what they want so they do it themselves.”
He turns away. “It’s disgusting. I can’t believe you just let that happen.” Cynthia can hear the anger in his voice but before she recognizes it he is gone, through the double doors, away from the smell of powder and alcohol wipes. He takes the smell of gasoline and grass with him. 

Art from MirrorMask

Text by Lucie MacAulay

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