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Made For Him - Carla Grauls |
I was made for him.
Eyes: powder blue.
Lips: crimson lake.
Hair: a fine synthetic brunette.
Underneath I'm cold to the touch.
Pure metal.
The clock strikes curfew. Women on the streets of Progress City stop. The shadow of time has passed; signal received; click-click of their heels along the spotless streets. They migrate home light like feathers, perfect and unbroken. Lips curled. Eyes set ahead. They smell like nothing. The sky is seamless and like Iris, the invention of a skilled engineer.
I look at her, pretty in her shell. I am a copy but we are coloured differently. My features are grubby, not box fresh. I stink like the filth we never see. The City is empty. My hands leave hot marks on the window. Quick step into the shop. My hem is caught on a splinter, threads run and I begin to unravel.
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