ANGEL WINGS


She opened the bathroom cabinet and winced at the wounds on her shoulders. Angel wings she mused, it's just those angel wings. She glanced at the rows of pills, at plasters and toothpaste, at cleansers and creams. Everything and nothing. She couldn't stop fidgeting, so she tapped out a lost rhythm on the edge of the sink, her fingers following a tune, a dance, a drum beat...she didn't know what, it didn't matter. She winced at the wounds on her shoulders and decided to wash her face. She filled the sink with clear, clean water...standing transfixed. She watched the water swirl, then glide, then become motionless as she turned off the taps. There was a stain down one side of the sink, a faded pastel tone. Probably toothpaste she thought...or perhaps...she stared intently, the stain didn't move, but it did change. It became a cascade of stars, it became a deep fissure in an endless glacier, it became a vibrant moonbeam blasting its way through unlimited trees, it became...she stopped herself. Her hands gripped the sink edge...it was just a stain, a stain on the side of the sink. It had always been a stain, and it would always remain a stain. Nothing would change that, nothing should. She looked around her...no one new. She needed this reality and she needed it to stay in place...just for a while. She closed the bathroom cabinet and winced at the wounds on her shoulders. Just angel wings she told herself, it's just those angel wings.

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