I like the bright ones;

Pink, blue, maroon.

Sometimes I even go bold

And paint my nails yellow!

Mother hated the black phase;

Dad didn’t really understand the point of the nude one.

My brother still can’t believe

That I spend time and money on elaborate nail art.

But I like the colors;

They make my world bright.

Shiny, matte; I experiment with all of them.

Silver, gold; is there any color left?

I really can’t decide on a favorite.

 

The man outside the shop was waiting.

As soon as I turned to the empty alleyway,

I heard his footsteps hurrying behind me.

I heard his breath; raspy and uneven.

I smelt his smell; rum and cigarettes.

I felt his arms; strong and unyielding.

 

The struggle ended soon enough.

I didn’t expect to be this calm.

Stumbling, I reached the main road.

A woman passed by carrying a grocery bag.

She gave me an odd look;

I still had the rock in my hand.

 

Red, I think. That’s my new favorite color.

 

Note: An attempt at poetic “turn”.