Dear Monsters, Be Patient
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Eventually, the unflinching gaze of the security camera positioned above you stared back intrusively as if to say, You’ve had your look, now go. You fumbled through your knapsack and removed a page from your sketchbook, turned it over and over, ran your fingers across the torn edges and then let it drop. You no longer held on to it, it just lay there on the concrete ground. The words written on the page circled in your head: Squeeze her ‘til her eyes were white, squeeze her ‘til her eyes were white.
You rummaged through your mind for the images of her banked in your memory. You unraveled each one and deleted them until she became a blurred photograph, a woman without features or a history that resembled yours. She was a ghost caught on videotape, wraithlike, emerging from the darkest corner of the frame, a trick of the eye, rising up with shadows, floating away.
tears in the typing pool | writings by kyle greenwood