The doors to the elevator close and the space between all five of us falls dead silent. Blood flew from the sky and all the colours seemed to shed their cloaks and that’s when my mouth opened up… it seemed to splutter out from my lips like when a kid puts their hand over a water fountain. You wouldn’t turn to face me though. Where do you get your spite from? The guy with the hair parted to each side, in the dark-blue suit that was too tight for his thighs looked at his phone and chuckled; the screen was totally blank.
Hot chocolate; you never did like coffee. I rode the bus the long way home today. I ran my hands across foundations in so many hues of beige; biscuit, nude, sand…
An empty Clipper lighter tucked away in my pocket (right now is not the time to tell me that I am “too good” to smoke). Breast augmentations and butt implants dominate popular culture but remember the days we used to gawp at these things on reality shows. What’s complex about putting the pop in culture? I think I saw that somewhere.
All the chips in the bowl were crispy at first; just enough salt to make it pop. But there you went again! You kept rambling and fussing at me, on about how you didn’t like the taste of coffee or tea or herbal tea or even hot chocolate anymore. I sat there not knowing whether to tuck myself in or break out into a blur of questions. When did the parameters tighten?
All those colours began to collude and intercept each other until I could no longer see your face.
Laura is a black British-Caribbean girl living in London. A lover of the written word, she has written articles for publications such as; The Body Narratives and The Student Journals. She also writes poetry and short stories and is currently working on a children’s book. You can find her on twitter and wattpad.