She hated interacting with people. And while she was walking, she considered that. She considered how hollow she felt when she looked into people’s eyes. She considered how some looked at her as though it was a challenge.
She just wanted to connect.
She wondered what they would notice first. Would it be her black scarf? Would it be the way her teeth grit? Would it be the small scar that rested on the curve between her index and middle fingers? Or her nighttime lashes that hung on to tears like they were her stars?
She walked by tall bushes. They were much taller than her.
The tips of the leaves grew. They grew hands, tiny hands with twigs for fingers. They reached out to her. She wasn’t sure if they were trying to soothe her, or if they wanted to grab her.
Her heart began to race.
Her feet quickened their pace.
Her coat shrunk.
It shrunk till it hugged her.
And it hugged her till she couldn’t breathe.
Or maybe she should place the blame on smoking one too many cigarettes? She wondered why she was scared she wondered why she was shaking the cigarettes were meant as a catalyst.
Her coat loosened its grip.
It was repulsed by her.
So it grew bigger so big it fell off.
Her fingers turned pink, and her chest grew purple, her toes curled into themselves. It was too cold for her very human body.
But, she was still walking. And so was the girl next to her.
The girl was wet, leaving a trail of puddles behind her like a stone pathway.
She looked away, and pressed her forehead against the lit screen of her cellphone. But, when she looked up, the screen came up with her. Except, it didn’t seem like her phone screen. It was bigger, much bigger. It stretched from her hat to her shoes. And it hit her with every step she took.
It made everything fuzzy.
She didn’t know where she was going anymore. She turned to see the girl, but she was gone. She couldn’t see past her screen anymore.
She couldn’t see past herself anymore.
She threw herself to the ground, and broke the screen. Bits of glass hung to her skin, and blood dripped from every scar.
© Zeinab Hassan Fawaz and Broken Dolls, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.