I don’t (yet?) know what this is, or who this girl is, but nonetheless, here it is! (Some days, I feel as though this is how writing in general goes, with me.)
The image itself stuck with me enough to want to share, so have a tiny serving of a hundred words. :)
She sets about setting fire to the sky.
She flicks her fingertips with fairy dust — cigarettes and match-heads snubbed by the side of the road — and laughs as they fly up, up, up.
In her head, they all still burn, gallery upon gallery burnt upon her retinas like portable art; like smoke signals, like stars.
She will point her own way home, and she is unafraid.
She can find the beauty even in the filthy things, and this is the only path that her feet care to take.
She smiles softly, and stares upwards with her black-rimmed eyes.