I really thought this would be different.

I remember where she started. Two eyes, a dot for a nose, and a chalky curved line smile. Suddenly I am blinded by bright hotness from above. Glittering bluewhitebright, and I can’t even close my eyes to get away from it.

You probably don’t know this, but it’s nearly impossible to draw a perfectly round circle. It took her 27 tries to get this. All that smeared-finger rubbing, spit wiping me away and then gritty chalk bringing me back into being. I would shudder right now, thinking about it, but as I hardly have shoulders I can’t.

Everyone says this, and I know it’s trite, but: I hate my hair. It hurts. Your hair probably doesn’t hurt, does it? Spikes driven into your roundish skull? I thought not. No, your hair lies there, softly, awaiting caresses. Mine is — what? — Brillo? A bed of nails? No one will ever caress it.

I cannot express my bitterness over having only four fingers. You probably take your thumb for granted. I think my balloon is tied to my wrist — do they think I am a child who knows no better than to let go of balloons and allow such graceful delights to waft into the sky, never to be seen again? Oh no — I’m no fool. I know a good thing when I’ve got one. I would never let go.

It might not even BE a balloon. I have tried to face that fact, that perhaps what I’ve got here is an upside-down bag of gold (worthless, no doubt, when compared to the bounty and promise of a balloon), but I cannot. To me, an oval atop a wee triangle MUST be a balloon.

I wish I could run. I won’t speak more about that. Too painful.

And then there is HER. I can tell that she thinks this is really something, you know? That we have a “relationship”  — I would do the air quote thing here  (I do know about them!) but alas, I am disabled. Please make allowances accordingly.

Oh. I should probably tell you that what truly terrifies me is rain.

I really can’t talk about it.


This is part of a 30-day foray into the art of ekphrasis, or writing from art. What you read today was 10 minutes of unedited writing from the chalk drawing image you see. Each day I will choose a new image and write for 10 minutes using the image as a starting place. I call the category Phantasm, which according to my dictionary is a figment of the imagination; an illusion or apparition, or archaic, an illusory likeness of something. 

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

Talk to me!

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.