Summer Rose

 

 ‘What do you want?’ The words just leap and fly from her rose petal lips. The girl I have just passed has black eyes which are staring at me through the spidery forest of her eyelashes. Her ponytail so perfectly vertical a maths teacher would stare in awe. There’s something about her upright, alert stance and the contrast of her black clothes and white skin and bright golden hair that is somehow intimidating.

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