Snow White

Today is Sunday and I’m by the sea. I’m wearing a batman t-shirt; which is ironic because I’m in no fit state to save a city, too wrapped up in being the vigilante of my own body and soul. It’s pleasantly breezy and quiet and warm. The sky is cerulean blue. Or, at least I hope it is. I’m toying with the idea of taking off my sunglasses; to pierce my eyes with holiday sky but I don’t want to be disappointed by an aquamarine. I wonder if lonely walks to clear my head wrapped in sunshine are what being a writer is all about. Or, if this is just what depression is. Are those two things mutually exclusive? My sandals are digging in and I wonder if I deserve it. The woman to my left, sat on a bank of grass, is crying. She’s hiding it well; a coffee cup, sunglasses and stoic lips. She is wearing red and I imagine her in a red tutu which helps her hear the crickets and birds easier and the crunching of my flat feet beneath her. I imagine her in a red tutu so she focuses less on the sadness she must feel in her bones and more on the coffee drips threatening to stain her clothes. My ghost has allowed me time alone today; time to smile, time to be quiet, time to listen to the sea and nothing else. I have brought the red tutu with me, stuffed in my bag but now clasped in my hand. A father on his bicycle gives me the chance to wear it, to feel
its feathery tulle. He is cycling past with his son. Yards away he reminded him how to ring his bell, a warning, so I waited. I didn’t look back but waited for the sound – small hands on metal and moved to the side. He thanked me and I smiled and with an absent mind stepped into the red band which matches my cheeks. The bee about my ear is much louder now but it means I’m not alone. In fact, I feel a little less like batman and more like snow white instead.

© Kristiana Reed 2018

Image: pixabay

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