Wednesday, July 9, 2008

sketch of a family whose daughter's hands drip with paint, III

Her stiff child hands were dripping with paint. She looked grey, or purple, or both. She had a stutter and refused to say words with a T in them. So many things went on in the mind of this child.

Her mother was a fat, oppressive woman. She adored making the child wear her jewelry and would adorn the tiny body in glitter from head to foot. Lovely you look my little lovely, and then she’d rub the lovely little thing’s sharp, bejeweled body.

The father ate much of the time and was gone the rest. He had a business in town, as well as an array of other engagements. He loved his daughter dearly though, and never failed to send her toys when he thought of it.

For now they all get on well enough, though the child is growing fast and her hands have of late begun to drip with paint. The doctors can’t explain it and the mother pretends as if they weren’t. What drip? she’ll say when anyone brings up the paint so very obviously dripping from her daughter’s hands. I don’t see any paint.

For now then we too will just pretend the problem does not exist, and turn our attention elsewhere.

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