She's staring into the distance.
[A deep, dark place where her thoughts are crowded by the silence in her head.]
S.c.r.e.a.m.i.n.g does nothing to rid herself of the demons visible to none but her own eyes,
The world awaits, and will see nothing.
Passing her by are the worn out sneakers of well trained feet.
Of corporate lawyers and business men in their inane parade to pick up a full fat latte before their wives notice they're late.
Dreams awash themselves around this young girl, wrapped up like secrets in that scarf she wears to protect herself from the demons of pollution, and bad fashion.
And to accompany her shawl, is a blouse so busy with design that anyone looking sees nothing but a mass of colour.
But that's what the world is about, is it not?
Too busy for detail, concentrating on the whole to escape the things that may really matter.
She sees these things.
She sees the untied shoelace of the man, before he tastes the concrete.
She sees the lid slip off the take-out no fat-no foam latte, before it's owner feels the heat through her shirt.
She sees the rainbow before it's stopped raining, and before the rest of the world pauses to admire it's beauty.
Safe on her flawless skin, the wind takes residence in her hair, stirring it up like abandoned memories of a forgotten past, but a remembered present.
All pointing to an uncertain future- she is seen as an art student.
No job, no money, and nowhere to go.
Spends her time painting her demons into her dreams and her dreams onto canvas.
Nothing sells anymore but morality.
Unless you're dead.
Right?
Honorable mention
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