Tuesday, March 6
It nestled in the subtle hollow of creamy pale skin, winking at him. A dark green that was surprisingly translucent when sunlight touched it. The globular gibbousness of it entranced him. He imagined containing it in his palm. Cold to the touch at first, but warming up quickly. The smoothness of the surface interrupted by the little lines of engraving. Rays of the sun on one hemisphere hallowing a fiercely smiling face; and the intertwined moon and star on the other. She bent down to pick up a fallen piece of paper and it swung free of the bare restraint of her plunging neckline. Its weight perfectly balancing its upswing with the downswing. Was it soapstone? He'd never had much of a head for geology. He wondered if it was a symbol of something. Young people these days adopted new cults with the noble air of giving stray dogs a home. He liked the
subtle mysterious green of it. He almost put his hand out to touch it. Just once to roll it between his fingers. He felt her eyes boring into him. He looked up, realisation dawning with a horrified whimper. "No, no, I wasn't.." he protested faintly, hurriedly. She collected her bags and stalked off the bus. Her haughtily stiffening spine luxuriated in the freedom of expected abuse. Please, he wanted to say. Just please.