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Faceless Things

—Kay Lee

Faceless Things

          After Don DeLillo

          It is Sunday, pictured by a morning void of cloud. It is either Miami or San Diego, 

          whatever is easier to make real. Two girls walk the street, jumping potholes. They are 

          in little red bikini tops, toes poked out of pink sandals. Long hair tied up. They take 

          turns sucking in breaths until their bellies cave beneath their ribs. It is summer. One 

          girl pokes the button of the other’s stomach. They laugh. A passing man with cowboy 

          boots turns to his friend and points. Fags. Jeering. The girls stick their tongues out 

          and run off before response. Their bodies collide into each other as they run, bones        

          clacking. It is noisy or quiet or unreal. The sea stretches with sky. The girls wash in 

          seafoam, share a roll of weed, smoke coloring in their bodies. Watercolor. The sky 

          turns red. They walk home. Close enough to brush skin but not enough to hold. The

          nighttime washes them alluring. A group of chittering men by the bar let out        

          consecutive whistles. Howl-like. A girl spits out a swear, leaves it burning rancid on 

          the cracked concrete. She is wearing a checkered skirt and purple top. The girls run. 

          This time they are holding hands. Cradling flesh. It is Tokyo, or Paris, or Rio de 

          Janeiro. The girls hide under a car-torn bridge, caked in shadow. They are breathing 

          hard, exchanging ignited air. They fill the emptiness in their mouths with the taste of

          each other’s skin. It tastes of salt-rimmed sweat. Sweet. A girl pokes the button of a 

          girl’s stomach. They cry. They laugh. They go home with lipstick red lips. A girl’s 

          mother asks where she’s been. The girl unwinds the day in her hands, eyes blue or           

          black or gray. Hair shaved short. Says,



HEESEO (KAY) LEE is a senior attending Korea International School in Seoul. She is a burgeoning young poet and writer who has attended the Iowa Young Writers’ Studio and Kenyon Young Writers’ Workshop, and been recognized by the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards. She is the co-founder and editor-in-chief of The Zinnia Anthology, which is now accepting submissions for its first issue. When she is not busy writing, she enjoys exploring neurological phenomena and performing taekwondo routines.

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