Dinah yanked the last hair free and took it between the thumb and ring finger of her left hand. She set the tweezers down, held the hair in front of her and looked right past it to the truth within the mirror. ‘I always get so red,’ she said. Flicking at the iPad cradled in her yoga posed legs, Juliette didn’t look up but stiffened slightly and pulled in a breath, ‘It’s your skin babe. Porcelain marks easy, but it’ll fade.’ Dinah blew the hair away and wished, wondering if an eyebrow would work as well as an eyelash.
Nic Addenbrooke is a freelance writer, editor, content creator, radio broadcaster, part-time poet and sometimes artist. Nic has been coming to terms with existence for years. He currently lives and works in Brisbane where he struggles to turn the cacophony of voices in his head into things of substance. It doesn’t always work but occasionally produces a nice veneer of sanity.