Revival: Short Story

While this story isn’t about revival in general, it is about the revival of an individual’s new adaptations towards someone else in their life. 

He had never noticed the little things before he met her. He didn’t notice the way her hair flowed down against her shoulder and down her back or the way her fingertips creased when she tucked the strands behind her ear. He didn’t notice the ear, either; or the fact it had two holes in the lobe and one of them had a star earring in and the other a simple gold hoop. He hadn’t noticed the curvature of her smooth neck, or the one freckle behind her ear. He didn’t notice the minuscule spots that aligned her forehead, mimicking constellations, he thought. He didn’t notice the tiny scars from her previous acne, either, but loved them nevertheless. He didn’t care for her eyebrows, but noticed them as a thing which was wild and untameable, much like the girl herself. Her nose was long and curved, and had an array of tiny faded freckles spattered across it, along with her cheeks, which were like apples, and of which would turn into Pink Ladies every time he touched her. Her temples were exactly that; temples, high and mighty, looming proud over the apples bestowed in her cheeks. He noticed her eyelashes first; coated with mascara, voluminous and flirtatious, and the kind of eyelashes girls desired to have. She had some kind of bronze shade smoothed over her eyelids and every time she blinked it was though a piercing ray of light would shine out unexpectedly. He had noticed her eyes first; who wouldn’t, on a girl like this? Her eyes were the colour of coffee- not freshly made; but slightly simmered down coffee. Amber. Underneath the coffee eyes, was the mascara smudges from the day which she’d acquired over perseverance and hard work. Little glitter flecks from the eyeshadow had also flicked onto her skin which purely decorated it, adding to the connect-the-dots constellation drawing she had on her face. He judged that her chin must’ve been sculpted by the gods: perfectly round but still pointed and of which framed her face perfectly, albeit a few spots which had made themselves known around that area. The last thing he’d yet to take in was her mouth and the full lips that she feel like had only grown bigger since kissing him. A perfect shape and colour, he couldn’t ask for more whilst admiring her and her artwork, all of which she’d created for her and his eyes only. She was a sad story, written with words only in shades of brown, white and black, and yet he noticed her every colour more than anybody else ever could. 

By Megan Neilly

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