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Hi. Haven’t blogged in while (which isn’t really surprising, given my attention span), but here’s a little something I wrote during my subway commute today:

The blister on Lainey’s big toe was a scab now. She hadn’t even noticed when it had stopped being soft and aqueous and turned into a hard, dark oval.
She sat down the hardwood floor, cross-legged so she could cradle her foot in her lap pick at the thing.
A month earlier, she had never known that her pretty, pale toe could turn the color of a sun-ripened plum.
“That’s a blood blister ya got there,” her father had said from the side of her hospital bed, staring at her plum toe and avoiding her eyes. He’d held her small hand in his roughened one, clenching so tight that she could feel his pulse throbbing against her fingers. She had pulled her hand away.
“Will they have to cut it off?” she had asked, feeling a pang of pleasure at the possibility. This was a traitorous toe, a stupid appendage that had caught the edge of the steps so she fell into the man’s strong grip instead of up and away from him.
“Like in Cinderella?” she added, closing her eyes. “They cut off the stepsister’s big toe so her foot could fit into the glass slipper.”
Her father had looked away from her blister, away from her completely, and Lainey saw that there was something tight and tender in the way his face screwed up.
“Fairy tales,” he had muttered, his head jerking awkwardly toward her and his gaze landing somewhere over her shoulder. “It’ll scab and fall off.”
He chanced a look at her arm, but flinched at the bruises and looked away again.
“No prince charming in this story anyway.”
And he had been right.
Now, Lainey pulled at the scab, tearing it off in little strips until the dark spot was gone. The skin beneath was soft and new looking. The skin of a baby.
She stroked the skin, reveling in the feel of it, in the knowledge that this part of her was fresh and unsullied.