Hands.

Her pallid hands were quivering. She had no destination.Wandering recklessly through cobblestone, tracing her bony fingers through the insensitive gravel that scratched at her white palms.There were a few bread crumbs around her, but the swallows stole them away. Her mouth, swollen and parched, needed water.Scramming through a flock of fugitives, she makes her way hastily towards a tiny creak nearby. It's quiet, no one is in the area.She takes off her shabby cotton scarf and places it with the yellowing weeds at the creek's banks. Slowly, she begins to wash her face...There she silently sits, praying for the water to empathize with her, to clean her from the sadness that cloaks her.


His hands were shaking. Shaking with blood.Dripping from the top of his finger to the edges of his wrist. Clotting in the middle of his sweaty palms. The shards of glass peek from each fragment of skin left, hanging lose on to his creaking bones. He stumbles over a longrag and hesitantly wraps it around his shocked arm. The smell of iron strong in between the swaddlings. He drops into a bath of salt,the released pain starts to pin point each of his weak joints. Wailing in pain, he prays to achieve eternal numbness.