The Mindtouch

Jay’s obsidian eyes stared judgingly at the gray scenery beyond the window. The street was oversaturated with blinking lights and other Christmas decorations. The mood outside was generally festive but there was an indescribable coldness in the air that chilled her core. The coldness without reflected the listlessness within. Her pale visage looked like it has been cut in marble, aloof and uncaring, yet radiating with the beauty of the artisan’s masterful craftsmanship. To the unsuspecting eye, she could be mistaken for a statue bar her calculating, piercing glare and vibrant long black hair which fell softly down her shoulders and covered the most of her pale, naked breasts.  Her breath misted the window through which she was watching the passing of people, each and every one of them drowning in their own loneliness, unwilling to reach out beyond the established routine. It was in part of their coldness that Jay’s heart grew cold itself, and she felt herself withdrawing, becoming one of them – the soulless ones, the simple ones. The spark of liveliness dwindling with each passing moment. The number 30 was crudely smeared on the glass and with each breath, its texture became more distinct.  Her obsidian eyes narrowed.

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