It started when he put the last cardboard box of books onto the stack in the basement, their colorful covers sealed up in brown packing tape. His shoulder itched. When he scratched it, the cloth and skin peeled away like wrapping paper. It stung a little. He walked upstairs, peeling off acne and uncombed hair, ancient jeans and ragged sneakers.
His new friends were waiting for him outside, white teeth sparkling and pleated pants freshly ironed. They waved, and he waved back. Something clung to his heel, and he kicked it away with a moue of disgust. He stepped out.
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4 comments:
Nice! I like this. What a great way to describe moving out of adolescence. If that's what you're doing...sometimes I misinterpret. :)
I welcome all interpretations. I am fascinated to see how stories, even such minimal ones as these, can mutate when read.
Have you read William Gibson's "The Belonging Kind"? I think you'd like it. Similar ... speculative elements (for lack of a better term). One of my favorite shorts, and one of the few things he wrote without a cyberpunk angle.
I have not; William Gibson has never been a favorite of mine, as cyberpunk never appealed. (For all that I love Shadowrun, what I actually like is orks with machine guns and trolls with cybernetic arms and movie star elves. The actual cyberpunk itself I can take or leave.)
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