e c l e c t i c a
s p o t l i g h t a u t h o r
(These are excerpts—click on the titles to view the full pieces)
Vanitas (a novella)
She was not particularly tall, but as it turned out, she had an inch on me (and a year of age). Her skin too was neutral, not fair and not olive, and you could not guess whether she would tan easily or burn. There were a couple of faint acne scars. And she was thin. She would not have to wrap her chest to get that boyish silhouette if she were a throwback to the flappers that her hair style suggested. Finally, she smiled to signal that I had studied her long enough.
We'd go mad in less than an eon,
longing to become windblown dust
or at least to move an inch.