Friday, 8 August 2014

Scrawling your name onto my skin

In one sentence is the spark of a story. Ignite.

Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a memory about this sentence. Write something about this sentence.

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The bandage itched and the area underneath it felt sore and tender. He kept touching it; pressing against it as if to remind himself that it was there.
He did it again; his eyes closed in something close to ecstasy.
When he opened them she was standing in front of him. “Hey.” His voice managed not to squeak.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Her solicitous look nearly unnerved him.
“I’m... fine.”
She glanced at his hand where it pressed over his heart. “Are you sure?”
Her head tilted. “Really? ‘Cause you look like you are having a heart attack.”
A nervous laugh escaped him. “My heart is fine,” he assured her. If by ‘fine’ you meant it started beating faster whenever she was around. If by ‘fine’ you meant his heart belonged to her. And she didn’t know. He had never told her.
It must have been the way he looked at her that gave him away because suddenly she put her hands on him. She lifted his shirt.
And his secret was exposed.
She stared at the tattoo under the cling wrap cover.
“What is this?” she asked in a low voice.
He couldn’t answer her.
She tried again, “That... that’s my name.”
God... as if he didn’t know that. He had it marked on his skin with a heart. He could only nod.
“My name,” she repeated. “But I don’t think of you like that.”
“I know-”
She looked guilty.
“-and that’s okay,” he continued. “The closest I will ever get to you is scrawling your name onto my skin.”
And the day he got it done... she had touched him.
© AM Gray 2014

Kid 2 tells me this is super creepy…

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