On Hole

¡You don’t have authorization to do that! her mind screamed. ¡You’ll be churned into glue for this if the Jeff catches you!

But her eyes continued to stare @ the chocolate-haired boy through the keyhole. She knew there was some secret to be found ‘hind those perfectly-shaped rib bones.

Then she slapped her hand & 180’d, squeezing her hand as if it’d hold her back like a handle.

It didn’t. Turned out, her feet could just move them both with it, no prob.

So this continued for years, her trying to look ‘way & failing, only to ‘ventually give up entirely. She still stands there frozen to this day, though this chocolate-haired fellow she mutters ’bout has yet to be found.


Boy, Jeff, legal