fearless, she wrote on the bare patch. wrote it again and again, spelling it backwards to fit the circles she’d mapped out. one circle, looking not unlike a lopsided teardrop – then another, joined together. traced over in permanent marker, they’d be painted over within the week.
(there was always painting to be done, lines blueprinted and touch-ups needed)
the paint glowed freshest when most-recently applied; give it even two hours and it’d begin wearing away, fading. colours began to distort as if polluted, definitions began to warp. nonetheless, the paints made for a creating a good facade, and even the tiniest touch-ups helped. one day per week, the facade was drawn down, left to fade further until next edits were made.
fearless, they call her, looking at her and the facade with a myriad of descriptions. shock, awe, fear, envy, lust: she never knows which one it is on any given day and never cares to ask. she moves through the world like it’s her own personal stage and lets people get out of her way.
this is how she works, they tell each other as she passes. and it’s true, as far as they’re aware. sharp mind and careful construction, and the force to go with her instinct: all they see is someone who gambles every action.
this is how i work, she thinks, and brushes off the fact that she shows them this facade.
they don’t get it; they merely believe what she tells them.