The Prose of Embroidery Khole

            She binds her body up to become something she’s not. She hides behind a mask of her own creation. From her mind comes the need, the desire to transform her body from what God gave her to what she’s always perceived as who and what she should be. Her body goes on, being what she was created to be, but her mind continues to think that it was all just a cruel joke.

            The phone rings – an unwanted interruption in the flow of things; an unscheduled stop in the continuum of the world. Ghastly and untimely tones, beeps and vibrations surge through the air, assailing any and all eardrums within earshot.

            Why would he have to call now? So susceptible is the brain connected to the ears connected to the phone connected to his call. So tender is the heart he just loves to break over and over again, without him even being aware.

            Dark hair grazes the top of the desk, the elbows leaning on the table, the head tilted into the hand holding the phone. Haircut, its time for a hair cut… the bangs hang down low, low enough to obscure the computer screen that contains a half written story that once upon a time had a happy ending.

            Of course he would have to call now.