kissenja

There is a new boy in my class. His name is Dave. He is big, and strong, and funny, and smart. And new. I find him pretty. He shines of newness; like a present underneath the Christmas tree that has just been unwrapped. Not a fingerprint on it yet. He is new, and I want to have him. I want to touch him and I want the first fingerprints on him to be mine, the first flavour he tastes to be the one of my lips. But he is so shiny. And he is so new and special. And I am not the only one who wants him. All girls want to have him. And they should, but only as soon as he is mine. Then all the girls can want him as much as they l

Her exquisitely manicured fingers intertwined with his, she walks into the room. She takes the champagne they offer her and, her hips swaying a little because of her high heals, makes for Richard. “Richard, darling.” “Ma belle, you were magnifique.” She lets go of the other man’s fingers to offer Richard her hand, and slightly bowing he kisses it. A smile forms on her lips. “Simply beautiful. I never before saw someone die so gracefully. If you don’t get an Oscar for this one, I give up. And I never give up, you know that.” “I know, Richard. Thank you.” The hand she let go of, he has moved

He walks to the other side of the room and sits down next to her. He makes a joke to the guy on his other side about how cute she is. He puts his arm around her shoulder. Do you have to? Do you? Do you really have to? Like thàt? Right in front of me? You don’t have any tact, do you? You suffer from short-term memory loss or something? Not even five minutes! Not even five minutes ago you were sitting there with me. I was sitting on your lap for Christ’s sake! You can hardly say you didn’t notice that. And now you put that arm, that hand, around her shoulder. Around her shoulder! HER shoulder! Do you even see who that

When she was a child her mother read her stories. Laughter, fright and tears underneath goose feather filled quilts or summer sheets. The smell of shampoo filling her nostrils and brain. Warm milk and cookies, wish me good night. Warm hands and kisses hold me tight.

A girl sits on a bench in the park. It is getting dark and a soft wind is blowing. Every once in a while she brushes a tuft of hair from her face, but it is blown back instantly. She wears a large, leather jacket. Underneath it you can see the hem of a small skirt. And pumps, little red pumps. Red, like her lips and her eyes. She has been crying. Her eyelashes still hold the remains of her tears, but they no longer run. Tracks of black mascara have been left on her cheeks, black smears on her hands. When the church-clock strikes, her body shocks and she looks around briefly. Then, her eyes stare forward again, to the large duck-pond with the

A soft yellow light is shining in front of my closed eyelids. I slowly open them a little, peering through my eyelashes; the light flickers. I groan. Damn cheap light bulbs. I move my hands over my face, massaging my jaw muscles and rubbing my eyes to wake myself. Putting my hands on the chair’s cushioned elbow-rests, I push my butt off the chair I flopped down in yesterday before falling asleep. Halfway through this motion I finally open my eyes fully, and freeze in mid-air. Two feet from my face hovers a girl. A very little girl, a very, very tiny girl with wings. Naked. Her miniscule breasts pierce right through the long blonde lock