NOTE: I’m still one day behind, but the next post will be today’s assignment.
Today’s Prompt: Fingers
Today’s Form: Prose
Today’s Device: Assonance
The Meaning of Her Touch
I closely watch how she holds that red colored pencil. I see lively movements, a quick flick of her wrist as she creates her world. As I look on, I want to ask her if there’s something hidden in her eyes, but I just can’t find the courage to. Her arm moves with sweet precision, but her green eyes glint with frustration. The quick flick soon turns to a heavy press on the paper. Her hands are shaking, fingers slipping to feel the ridges in the paper, the intensity of the color. As I look on with awe, I find that the whole paper is covered in rolling waves of red. Her trembling fingers let go. Those slender, callused fingers shake with rage, hatred. I want to say something, but I can’t. I don’t see beauty in her movements. I just closely watch her with the sweet precision she moved her wrist in. She closes her eyes and so do I. For a minute, there is silence. She touches my hand just for a minute. I don’t want to let go, and I don’t. I don’t feel her fingers shake, just the softness of her skin. I open my eyes. Those hands are gone, and now my fingers shake in rage.