She held the keys in her left hand
-gripped, more like.
The longest, sharpest (otherwise ineffectual) key protruded from white knuckles prodigiously, residing sharply between the index finger and the curiously unadorned middle finger. No longer mated to metallic clicks and levers, these jagged teeth promised to open locks of a far more fleshy nature. As she made her way through the empty street, the clackity clack of poor choice making followed close behind. James' hefty stomp should have matched her click for clack, but the evening had been eventful and the heels called foolishly into the night, distinct and alone.
No comments:
Post a Comment