Suzie. Suzie. Wake up. Get up. Big uppppp
Heading towards the kitchen. Tummy is yelling. Food, ...
A small plate and a cake fork. Leftovers from yesterday, carefully wrapped in plastic foil.
One slice. Or maybe two. Someone said that eating sugary cereals in the morning is equivalent to eating cake. So why not take the easy road.
Suzie walks around the kitchen, then takes off her clothes, steps into the shower, steps out of the shower, puts on her clothes, brushes her teeth, looks at herself in the mirror for a last check. Crunchy tears rest in the inner corners of her eyes. She grabs them piece by piece with her middle finger, scrapes off the dry parts and then sucks it all off her nail. No one saw. Right?
Another last check. For real now. Suzie runs her hand through her hair. Dark and soft.
Almost black. She pulls her hair tightly and releases her grip again, thinking how she loves her hair so dearly, how she loves
the smell, the haptic, and how it seems to go on
growing forever and ever, and ever, and ever...
But something new must come, eventually. Maybe red. Hot crazy red. Suzie will be hot
crazy red and she will go on growing forever, one day she will be a hundred meters tall, and she will be hot
crazy red, and her hair will be reaching all the way down to the dusty ground. Suzie remembers what she dreamt last night.
Down and to the letterbox. Ad. Ad. Ad. And a handwritten letter. The handyworker wants to get to know her better. He's asking for private sessions. Suzie is disgusted and frankly, a bit scared, but fuck it, the handyworker will not recognize her once she's all hot and crazy and red, and anyway, she will be gone soon. Suzie opens the heavy wooden door and steps out onto the street. The weather is warm and wet. No handyworker in sight.