she slowly fanned her fingers out, admiring the deep purple of her nails. she had loved, as a child, to trace the outline of her palm and her fingers. when she would pull her hand back, she would draw little stick legs and feet and look at the instant drawing of a turkey.
she never thought she was a clever drawer.
she had always marvelled that her hands had never really grown since childhood. her ring size had only gone up half a size and when she looked at her hands, they always reminded her of a childs hands — not hands of an adult.
this morning when she woke, she had found herself on her stomach and her hands on either side of her head, spread out, as if waiting for nail polish to dry.