Tasha's thoughts

One of the unique things about Tasha was how she responded to touch. As a child, she liked putting things together and maybe rubbing them. She thought that different surfaces created different music. She used to playfully rub stones on leaves, walls, glasses, water, and the sunlight. She thought of them as her friends. She would smile at them, be angry at them, and smell them as her nostrils flutter. She sneezed from dust endlessly and broke into half laughter realising her specialness. She never liked keeping any of the things she adored to touch. She liked touching them wherever they lay, in their deep hibernating states. She was not interested in human touch. She thought it was invasive. Every Friday night when her parents got drunk, Tasha would sneak into Mom’s bed and gently put her little finger in her mom’s palm. She would wonder about the callus on her mom’s palm that was almost blue as her eyes.

She likes to wander. She had two friends from the living world; an old man who never smiled and a stray dog who never stopped running. The former let her stare at him without any issues, and the latter helped her to run until she collapsed. She looked at moving things with curiosity and came near and told the still things all the stories. She thought it was bad that they couldn't move, even though she envied their peaceful sleeping hours and hypnagogic acceptance of dust, water, and anything that time left on them.

Every morning she went to the toilet and took her coffee with her. She would throw the coffee on the wall in front of her as she sat there like a monk and looked at the brown coffee drops racing to reach the floor, and she would spend even more hours washing them out. She liked that she had her own toilet. At least no one was interested in her coffee races.

She did not like reading, but she liked looking at letters and drawing them bigger and smaller. But she thought if a letter meant the same sound to everyone, then there's nothing exciting about them. She wanted to learn to draw more letters, which she saw in different books in the library. People would look at her like what the fuck is she doing in the library every time she goes there. She did not understand why. Some made fun of her, some would smile at her with so much care and sympathy that she felt there was something weird.

She did not like the boys in her school. Apart from the long-haired boy with a red scar on his left cheek, when she saw him for the first time, she wanted to run towards him and run her fingers on his scar. It reminded her of the stains and marks that were left behind on the washroom floor after every coffee race. She never dared to go to him, but he was content with looking at him, and comparing his scar to the stains and finding more and more resemblance. She told me her favourite stones and dried leaves about him. They replied that she should touch his scar, and she would not have felt that cafuné with her all caressing endeavours with them. The leaf was kinda sleeping but the stone could not shut up about anything at all. Perhaps, it was hoping that if she gets to play with the boy’s scar, the stone would get a little rest from her polishing and cleaning it every day.

That morning was breezy, Tasha had already finished waking her three stones and 13 leaves. She did not do a coffee race that day, she had no time, she was determined to make the long-haired boy’s scar hers. She waited near the pink-coloured walls that led the way out of the school, that is where she found him every day with his scarless friends. She thought they looked boring, they never had the most beautiful scar that magically resembled the coffee stains on her green-coloured washroom floor. She flicked her nose as she realised she was getting lost in her thoughts again. She can’t look away; she needs to go to him and tell him about the stains and show him how it was meant for him, all her coffee races. She couldn't hold her smile back for the first time.

As she started walking towards him and his friends who were drinking from a colourless bottle, her fluttering mind couldn't help but notice the cat that ran past the bushes near the boys. She thought the cat was awfully fucking cute, but she stopped her mind from jumping to the cat. The guys screamed wild pussy at the cat as they threw a stone at it. She was confused about whether to be worried about the stone or the cat.

She stood near the guys, trying to look up. But they did a favour by coming up to her and standing around her in a circle. She thought it was nice of them. She looked up with her little dry eyes and quivering lips to the boy. She is seeing his scar up close for the first time. Weirdly enough it looked nothing like her coffee stain. But it didn’t matter. Softly, she said to him.

“The coffee stain in my washroom looks like your scar, can I touch it”

She felt ecstatic to have said it, she started to talk about how she created the coffee stains, but it was drowned by the loud laughter all around her, his friends were screamingly laughing at him, she didn’t understand anything they said, it was deafeningly loud for her. But she understood they were laughing at her long-haired scarred boy. But she chose to console him rather than react to the boys. She took two steps closer to him. But she saw anger in his face and disgust. Also, a tiny teardrop rolled down to the centre of his scar, just like one of her coffee droplets. She ate a half sigh as she moved her hands to touch his scar and wipe that tear off. But he pushed her with all his power as she fell to the ground. He said something, she could only hear dumb, potato, cunt, she eats stones and shits that every morning.

He looked for a big stone to throw at her, as she felt very dizzy from the fall. No one could find a stone, or maybe the stones knew Tasha well so they hid away in their magical ways. The boy kept screaming at her. He was angry, sad, and mad. She didn’t understand why he would be angry about his most beautiful feature. The boy came and kicked right in front of her face, on the ground, and the dust that came up blinded her. He screamed to her;

"you are a dead scar you don’t even fucking talk to people, you think I am ugly, you stinky cunt!"

He took mouthfuls of his drink and kept spitting at her.

He said;

"I don’t have a scar in here, come see closely", as he pulled out his dick, and squatted down on her face.

The stones and the leaves crawled toward Tasha as she lay on the ground with a new scar on her face.