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‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘She’s always sad.’ ‘I know.’ She looks up at me. The incredible blue of her eyes. ‘Is she sad with me?’ And I reach out for her, hug her. For me. Not for her. * San’s on the bed, lying on her back. She’s closed the window, drawn the curtains. Her old summer dress, faded yellow, makes a tent over her drawn-up knees. Her eyes are closed. I sit down next to her. ‘Knees are for making tents out of dresses,’ I say. I don’t touch her, although I’ve never wanted to more. She turns onto her side, her back to me, and pulls her knees up as close to her chin as they’ll go. Her hands are together, pushing the thin material between her thighs. ‘Katie says you’re sad. She thinks she’s done something wrong.’ The room is dead still. No sound. I can see the sun through the thin curtains, a small, white circle. ‘San,’ I say. But there’s nothing. * ÉCLAT FICTION

8

MAY 2012

Profile for Eclat Fiction

Éclat Fiction - Issue 3  

The third issue of Éclat Fiction (an online short story anthology). www.eclatfiction.com

Éclat Fiction - Issue 3  

The third issue of Éclat Fiction (an online short story anthology). www.eclatfiction.com

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