Hands | Heather Zundel

1. Her hands weave through her hair, winding it around, her mind elsewhere.

2. He delicately picks at the fuzz on his sweater, carelessly flicking it away.

3. Her clenched fist, knuckles shining out, match her set jaw as she listens, saying nothing.

4. Flipping her glasses into the sunlight she examines the dust that has collected there.

5. His hands slide across his face, stress lining his features, as he tries to rub the sleep from his eyes – in vain.

6. The little girl slaps the magazines in the rack, her stubby fingers trying to tear the paper. Another hand comes down sharply, and the little hands curl against the rebuke.

7. She rubs her bare arms up and down, pleading with the morning chill to leave her alone.

8. She fingers her necklace, letting the chain rub between her fingers. Her mind distracted, she keeps herself in reality.

9. He punches in his pin, using his body as a shield from wandering eyes.

10. Her fingers fly over the strings, a serenade played out in harmony with her bow. Together they dance while the morning light streams in.

11.Her fingers linger on the page before turning it to see if the hero has escaped.