It is hard to believe that another year is almost gone. Everywhere you look, Christmas Trees are trimmed, turkeys and puddings fill store windows, and oversized decorations hang from lamposts.
She stepped out onto the balcony, brushing aside the powder blue streamers, and foil balloons emblazoned with “It’s a boy!”
Each flick of her wrist reveals more flesh. An unbroken garland of skin lengthens with the blade’s every pass.
A surprised face appeared at the lace curtain beside the door. ‘Hello, Charlie! It’s nice of you to drop in,’ my Grandfather told me.
She cannot escape. Break free. Be an individual.
The smell of Grandma’s butterfish wafts out to where Charlie and his brothers dangle from the old swings.