Twenty-Three
Subliminal MessageIt was hard to tell if our visitor's shirt was grey or light blue under the dirt. The cut-offs she wore appeared to match though they too were filthy. The tattered edges of a sleeveless top exposed slender arms. And the torn and frayed hem of each pant-leg sat mid-thigh. Long, scraped and bug bitten legs ended in a pair of well-worn, black shoes.
My eyes travelled over her flattened chest and landed back on her dirt smudged cheeks. The odd, stringy lock of brown hair touched the top of her shoulders, but most was shorter than chin-length.
“What do you want?” I called to the stranger standing at the edge of the forest. Sweat trickled from my temples despite my hair being swept off my neck, and my heart thrummed. The knife grew heavy, and my fingers ached.
