A Writer’s Book of Days Exercise: Intervention

A Writer’s Book of Days Exercise: Intervention

D’s closet was immaculate. The bright splashes of colour were arranged together, creating a blinding rainbow further broken down into shirts, pants, leggings, bodysuits, socks. Each stack was tiny, ey hadn’t brought much after all, but Tomas suspected it was also to make them easier for eir to shove into the duffel that was folded at the bottom of the closet.

Even the bag was D all over, covered with cloth patches in the same shapes that were so often plastered over eir skin. Stars, hearts, circles, spades, even an infinity sign or two, and one that might have been a peace sign before the bars were pulled out. Tomas knelt beside the bag and ran his hand over the canvas where the stitches had been, feeling the depressions in the punctured surface.

He sighed, shook his head, and then began going through the stacks, lifting each piece up one at a time, shaking them out, checking the pockets, and then folding them up again. There was nothing in the closet but clothes, the only patches the ones on the duffel. D’s stash had to be somewhere else.

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