The Ghost of X

“I’m not sad, I rarely am, just sensitive to these moments I once so often took for granted.”

S. K. Nicholas

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In a pet store off the beaten track, I catch my breath and take in the shade. Frogs are popping on the sidewalk, their manky guts plastered all over my scuffed shoes. Dizzy and drunk, some young sort eating an ice cream gave me the eye, and as I gazed at her mouth, she purposefully stuck her tongue into the vanilla scoop and looked at me in the cruellest of ways. She knew I wanted her. Knew that I was just a man like all the others, and as easy as that, she became some vast mural painted across the landscape with colours so vivid they would’ve made Van Gogh and Rothko tremble in their graves. Letting my eyes linger on her a while longer, she gave me a shy half-smile before disappearing into a crowd waiting at a set of traffic lights. Wiping sweat from my forehead with the…

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One comment on “The Ghost of X

  1. S_MW says:

    I love that sentence.

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