Paper Dolls
Paper Dolls
Blood.
It flushes through the body, revitalizing, fuelling, regulating, transporting. Rushing along thin-walled passages to fulfill the needs of the body, protected only by layers of delicate tissue.
The old woman looks down the length of her arm, to where the stain spills from her artery. A red rivulet creeps toward her.
Across the yard the girl watches, placidly, as if observing a hummingbird at a feeder.
The old woman tries to will the girl to look away, to go back to the safety of inside with its brick walls and paper dolls.
Memories flit through the old woman’s mind. The feathering touch of flour dusted across dough. The smell of a leather-bound book. The look in her own grandmother’s eyes before she slipped into the hereafter.
