Softly, Softly

She is shoelessly walking the street, and the threads in her stockings are snapping erratically. She’s curling a key in her hand, and it feels softer than her skin. A man, older, falls into step beside her silence and tells her about his job while she lets her teeth show. “Keep smiling,” he says, and she might have otherwise. She nudges the metal tip between her knuckles slightly and feels like she can sprout fangs.

Driving past, the cabdriver wishes he could wrap her in his metal cage and take her home whole. So pale she’s glowing at three a.m., so fragile next to that bull-of-a-man, so light she looks about to grow wings.

27 November 2006

I didn’t write this about Effy Stonem, obviously, but now it makes me think of her.

Sometimes, walking alone through narrow places at night, I feel invincible precisely because everyone looks at me like I’ll be a victim soon, and they have no idea.


January 21, 2009. Tags: , , . tawdry teen tv, writing.

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