The bottom of my feet are tinted green. I had fading blue streaks on my arms for nearly a week. My fingernail beds have similar discolorings—from the preschool paint—and my thumb and forefinger are stained with the deep violet of GV, the wonder drug that we slap on the village kids’ cuts nearly daily. I wake up each morning to my increasingly wild curly hair, and I’m forced to giggle at myself in the mirror. Today, my skirt and my tanktop do not (and could never, even in the wildest fashion dreams) match.
I’m starting to think maybe I’ve let myself go. Kim keeps trying to call me back to the living. I wonder what the implications of this are. Hmm. Hopefully, I’ll be able to pull it together before our next trip back to civilization…
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