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I remember that feeling of skin. It's strange to remember touch more than thought. But my fingers still tingle with it.

Lucy Christopher

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Lucy Christopher
Age: 54
Author
Writer
WAL
Strange
Feeling
Feelings
Thought
Tingle
Stills
Skin
Remember
Skins
Still
Fingers
Touch

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Your beautiful mouth was moving like a caterpillar. I reached out and tried to catch it.
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When the darkness gets easier, you know you're sinking deeper, becoming dead yourself.
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This be OK?' I asked, innocently. 'You want me to have no skin left?' You rolled your eyes. Actually, don't answer that one.
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I didn’t want the person standing there, beside the bed, to have the same face I’d found so attractive at the airport. But you were there all right: the blue eyes, blondish hair, and tiny scar. Only you didn’t look beautiful this time. Just evil.
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I was surprised at her gentleness, her willingness to give in.
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Doesn't that hurt? I said. Yep. How do you keep them in there? I'm stubborn. You grinned. Stubborn as a waddywood. And anyway, pain means it's healing. Not always.
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In a moment, when I'm ready, I will turn off this computer and that will be it. This letter will be finished. A part of me doesn't want to stop writing to you, but I need to. For both of us.
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I thought you wanted to catch a camel, you tried again. No. I want to. Well, you go then. You laughed. I want your beautiful face where I can see it
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And it's hard to hate someone once you understand them.
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You smiled then, and your whole face changed with it. It kind of lit up, like there were sunbeams coming from inside you.
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I chased money, pretended to be someone else to get it. It got easier the longer I did it... but that's the trap, see? When the deadness gets easier, you know you're sinking deeper, becoming dead yourself.
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You nodded towards the cup. Want more? I shook my head. What about the car? Didn't find it. You were heading back towards me when I found you. Towards . . . ? You nodded. So I reckoned the car had probably got stuck or died somehow, and you were just coming home. Home? Yeah. Your mouth twitched. Back to me.
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Had you been lying all along? Mum gently stroked my hair. I whispered into her shoulder. “I can’t go back. Not yet. I can’t leave.” And she held my head tight to her chest and wrapped her arms around me. “You don’t have to,” she said, rocking me. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, not anymore.” And I cried.
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You're right, he's a killer, you said. A rooster with some serious issues.
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You won't be able to hurt me, or touch me.
Lucy Christopher
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How would she find her herd? How would she find you?
Lucy Christopher
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I mean, that star over there is blinking at me madly now, but for how long? An hour or two, or for the next million years? And how long will we sit here like this? Just another moment, or the rest of our lives? You know which one I'd prefer.
Lucy Christopher
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I want you to see that the person I glimpsed running beside the camel, running to save my life, is the person you can choose to be.
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The deep blue of your eyes had secrets. I wanted them.
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But what else can I do, other than to plead with you like this? Other than to write down my story, our story, to show you that what you've done . . . to make you realize that what you did wasn't fair, wasn't right.
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