Every little boy’s dream: fast, funny, and had no fear of frogs, spiders or snakes. And, she had extra peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
James gazed at the portrait with a paradox of awe and disgust. It was her exactly, years ago, when she was new and not now. He walked away.
He drove by her. Thin, tan legs. Dark chocolate hair. Short shorts and a sports bra. He looked until he crashed. She kept running.
She was gorgeous and philosophical, but we could never be together. She imagined her life in an apartment. I imagined my life in a backpack.
Jen sings in the shower. Talons click closer. Unseen breath shudders the curtain. She shuts the spray. Hears dripping. Not water. Saliva.
She dropped the robe and sank into the cushions. He inhaled her beauty. He lifted her chin and the first stroke of paint stained the canvas.