Wednesday Stories: Shiloh

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She scrunched the centre of her face and her upper lip merged with the tip of her nose. Everything about him gave her the creeps. His grin, oversized tees, and greasy hair. His crass jokes, and loud laugh. His weak comebacks. And the pathetic nature in which he tries, so hard to be the guy he thinks every girl would adore. It made her itch. He tapped her bare shoulders with his moist palm her face resumed its scrunched position. She shook his hand off and quickly walked away. Fuming.

How dare he touch her, with those hands. She is not the sort to find him, what was the word they all call him, endearing. In fact she never finds anything moist endearing. She is the sort who likes crispy fries. The kind that is crunchy, not soggy.

She likes things hot, or cold. Wet or dry. Not moist. Not lukewarm.

And definitely not just alright.

 

 

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