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portrait of a girl

19/2/10 07:29 - portrait of a girl

sun­light stream­ing through the bay win­dow and accented her hair, hints of golden strands swam through a river of chest­nut locks. the mop of her pony­tail slung hap­haz­ardly over her shoul­der as she set­tled more deeply into the chair, her head propped up against the palm of her hand. the remote con­trol rested atop her thigh. her slen­der fin­gers rapped lightly against the but­tons. reflec­tions of light bounced off of the sil­ver thumb ring with the slight­est motion of her hand, a keen coun­ter­part to the golden cross that slung down around her neck.

she sat on the recliner with her feet tucked under­neath her. how such a sit­ting posi­tion could be com­fort­able, i’ll never know. i told her that the lever at the side of the chair extended the foot rest.

i know how to work a chair,’ she replied dis­mis­sively, too deeply immersed in the serial-killing com­forts of dex­ter on the tele­vi­sion to enter­tain fur­ther queries on anatom­i­cal configurations.

dur­ing the com­mer­cial, i got up. she tilted her head and looked up at me as i stretched out, swing­ing my arms back and forth. her eyes were hazel from a dis­tance, but up close, they were green on the out­side that faded into a reddish-brown, with flecks of gold, like pho­tographs of cos­mic super­nova in sci­ence text­books. her eyes nar­rowed as i walked past her. her hand con­tin­ued to pet the remote, as if it were a cat on her lap. she could have passed for a crim­i­nal mas­ter­mind of an era gone by.

where are you going?’ she asked.

cof­fee,’ i said when i reached the kitchen.

when i sat back down, she stretched her arm toward me, fin­gers flittering.

gimme.’

make your own.’

she frowned.

i rolled my eyes.

just a sip.’

the cor­ners of her mouth betrayed a grin. her eyes twin­kled. she was lying. i handed her the mug anyway.

she sank back into the safety of her seat. this time with her knees up against her chest as she held the mug in both of her hands, pur­posely mak­ing loud slurp­ing sounds as she drank my cof­fee. she traded cal­cu­lated, sus­pi­cious looks between the tele­vi­sion and me.

let­ting out a deep sigh, i stood up again to get another cof­fee. she grabbed my wrist as i walked by. i stopped and looked back down at her. she handed back my cof­fee and smiled.

thanks,’ i said surprised.

it needs more sugar.’

i raised my eyebrow.

she pointed at the kitchen. ‘that way.’

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