She sat before the mirror, spreading herself carefully. Dark purple, deflated: is this what he saw? Is this why he refused…?
She let a hand drop, covering herself, a chain of memories melting into one another: knickers on the floor, his odd look, lights being turned off, the warm firmness at her open lips, the bed’s silent shaking. A kiss on the forehead before he left again.
Summer months crawling by. Now autumn’s dried leaves on the pavement outside, curved and brown, whispering her self-doubt. She closed her eyes, imagining green shoots bursting forth from the dark earth, deep underground.
Runner-up in Lily's Friday Prediction. Each week, Lily gives you three words, and you write a story in no more than 100 words in the comments. This community of writers is simply stellar. They blow the roof off the place each week, and the variety of genres is wonderful. Makes for varied and interesting reading.
Inspiration comes from everything, everywhere. In this case, I had read Hayley Campbell's blog about her experience with the creator of the Wall of Vagina (yes, you read that correctly).
I do believe this is a valuable art project, one which has merit. The cons have been argued by a friend, and while I respect their position, I firmly believe in the power of this to heal -- wounded thoughts, wounded self-image.