Fresh Girls & Other Stories
“As she pulls her arm back, along with half the window, the shards slice across her wrist and the palm of her hand, simple as a knife slicing through uncooked white chicken meat. The blood begins to fill the gash to the brim, spilling over, as she looks down at her hand with detachment. The sound of glass falling fills her ears with wind chimes, the sound of glass spinning in the blue night. Ballerinas of glass cling to her wrist; she plucks them out, lets them fall to the floor.
She walks to th...e bathroom and holds the cut hand under the tap, filling the sink with diluted blood. She smiles to herself — she always smiles when she feels broken and ground up, with nothing left except a diamond in her chest. A diamond that nobody can pluck out and possess. A diamond beautiful like herself. She knows she is beautiful, because the sure, sharp mirror tells her so.
I see someone in the mirror, though, who is not beautiful, and that is why she hates me. I am the part of her she wants to kill. She has tried before, but what she doesn’t know is that if it wasn’t for me she would have died long ago.MoreLess
She walks to th...e bathroom and holds the cut hand under the tap, filling the sink with diluted blood. She smiles to herself — she always smiles when she feels broken and ground up, with nothing left except a diamond in her chest. A diamond that nobody can pluck out and possess. A diamond beautiful like herself. She knows she is beautiful, because the sure, sharp mirror tells her so.
I see someone in the mirror, though, who is not beautiful, and that is why she hates me. I am the part of her she wants to kill. She has tried before, but what she doesn’t know is that if it wasn’t for me she would have died long ago.MoreLess
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