purple

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very short story

Some curious boy. An uncomfortable notion of being that hung around his eyes. Not in his eyes. That awareness was keen and honed so that sharp bones protruded absent muscle and warming blood making it a relief that he stood absently twiddling a strand of hair.

Opposite seen by him in a mirror, made greyer, was a likeness more worn and tidier in her femininity. Impossibly inelegant wrapped in stiff plastic cover you saw-heard crinkle so you involuntary shrugged as if it possessed your own neck. He though remained transfixed under lilac.

"There yow are, Ada".

Ada had a lilac tree in her garden . It marked a war with it's roots bared by an Adison. Now her hair purpled from the silver of his recall was sprayed and captured in a net the colour of their fine veins.

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