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Your Favourite Hobby

My limbs became the folds of a paper crane. Intricately bending to your will. Setting in the exact form you wanted. You pushed me flat, and down I went.

Oh, you want thin? I'll go thinner.

Your hard manicured nails, like Swiss Army Knives, did everything you needed them to.

Even, with precision, straightened my dull edges - alongside your expert pressure, so that they became hard weapons that cut deep, plush red lines in my thin pink skin. I stuck out like a sore thumb, like yours, stinging with smaller crosses of blood.

Marks of your craft.

But it didn't matter. Not to you.

You finished with me eventually. A mutilated carcass that resembled a bird - but trapped, unable to fly. Just sat me aside, pretty now, and let me collect dust like old flypaper.

Alongside all of the others, each us cemeteries for dead skin and dead insects, rotting in our frail wings. Faded rainbows, dead cells, bodies, and souls.

But then that's just how it goes. All part of the fun, right?

Just the pure love of it - this hobby of yours.

Story by:

Chloe Smith

22 May 2018