Flash Fiction 8: I Like When You Hold My Hand

She held my hand palm up and scratched at the flecks of glitter there, “They’re really stuck on there.“

I shrugged, “It probably got under my shield. That happens sometimes.”

She stopped scratching and peered at my palm closely, “So your palm is always gonna have glitter now?”

“Naw, just till it shakes loose. A day or two tops. Stuff, tiny stuff, just kind of gets under there and sticks for a while.”

“You can’t shut off your shield?”

“No, it’s always on.”

“Oh,” she looked closer at my glittery palm and traced a finger over the pattern, “Can you feel me touching you?”

“Yeah, it blocks impacts and stuff that could hurt me, not touch.”

“Did you know the glitter was stuck?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why did you let me try to get it off?”

I curled my fingers around hers, “Cause I like it when you hold my hand.”


 

 

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