My friend asked me to write a story about a photo of her choice. Here it is.
Peeing on a Stick.
Peeing on a stick she thought? Seems so medieval.
The fluorescent bulb flickered, the next cubicle flushed and she pulled the stick out from between her legs.
Roxy closed her eyes and thought of everything at once: kung-fu stars and yesteryear sweets, playing out and smashing puddles in hand me down wellies, the enormity of the world and the power of nostalgia.
The obtrusive laughing of the girls through the door shook her out of her thoughts and she quickly tossed, flushed and pulled her self together. She had a job to do tonight and everything would have to wait. She rinsed, splashed and walked out of the toilet and into the lights, the clacking of her shoes drowned out by the throbbing drum and bass.
She calmly walked through the door looking down and allowed herself a wry smile, as she looked up a young man with a big camera asked her to pose for a photo, she obliged, forced a smile and didn’t realize that her left arm gave her away completely.
