Waves of black ink, striking against the porcelain-like skin of my hand. They twist around my fingers and across the back of my hand, turning and sweeping. I stare at the lines and swirls on my hand and try to remember. I try to think back to remember how they got there. I try to think of something, anything that might give me a clue to what it means but nothing comes. My classmates brush past my and I can feel their eyes boring into me. Yeah, I know it's weird but I'm sure it means something. It has to. I trace the patterns withour looking at them, I've done it so many times and I don't even notice when she walks up to me. I have no idea how long she's been standing in front of me when she gently touches my fingers with her own. I look into her eyes and she answers my unspoken question before I even know my eyes have asked. "I know. I know what it is." She shoves a piece of paper into my ink covered hand and stares hard into my eyes for a moment before walking away and with shaking fingers, I look down at the writing on the paper and I feel like it's burning my fingers.


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Jayden Nicole (joined about 12 years ago)

I have a passion for art and an overactive imagination.

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