The Trappist

By paddington

Mon, 18 Apr 2005
  • 736 reads
1 comments
 

I can no longer wash the dirt off of my hands. It's ingrained itself
too deep into the ins and outs of my skin, rendering the surfaces of my
palms and my fingers smudged and but mapped in hideous detail. I can no
longer wash the dirt from under my nails, so I return to what I
know.

Certificate U
Other
little one(')s
Other Fiction

Comments

Submitted by lenchenelf on
Small but perfectly formed, almost a prose poem. 'Mapped in hideous detail' very Lady Macbeth. enjoyed reading. all the best Lenaxx