the silver girl

Clerkenwell Writers Asylum

I was woken up by a banging at my bedroom door, I bet myself Hetty had found herself covered in tin foil again. I yawned and shouted at her to come in. The flimsy wooden door almost swung off its hinges and Hetty ran in, clad in a long t-shirt, all the flesh that was visible shining, crinkling, silver.

Her brown eyes were wide and panicked.

‘Okay, okay don’t worry sit down’, I said hunching my legs up so she could sit at the end of the bed.

I got up and knelt on the floor in front of her.

‘Come on let’s get it off then’.

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