Cold Water
Cold Water Her eyes kept expanding in their sockets. The muscles at her jaw swelled like the hunch of a well-fed cow as she clenched her molars and premolars. She tried so hard to stop the warm brine but her lachrymal glands, apparently, did not get the memo. In a spilt of a second, her cheek and mascara, all of it, would be washed clean, like the salty waves over the beach sand Like two young paramours holding hands, her tears would connive with the mucous from her nostrils at the philtrum, traversing her lips before finally jumping off the jaw cliff. It would not be a good sight at all. On other days, the milky alliance between tears and mucous would make me puke. Her own, although equally sordid, only inspired pity. I had never seen someone with so much tears. Tears, with a will like the erosion on the sub-Saharan soil, mapped and dug out every dirt on the physiological contours of her face. Astonishingly, her vocal cor...