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Quote by Maria Papas

“She liked storytelling, and so did I. She liked painting, sewing and craft. Her artworks, she said - her own and the ones she purchased - were collections of personal histories. They were cracks in the footpath, metaphoric scars on skin and lives etched on people's faces. They were reminders of what once existed.”

Quote by Maria Papas

Work

Skimming Stones

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Author

Maria Papas

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“She took out a charcoal stick and began to sketch-- on the workbench itself. Of course the moon wouldn't come to her in songs or poems or crystals or whatever... she felt the most centered, the most tranquil, when she was painting or drawing. Lost in her own world or in new ones she imagined. She shouldn't have made a chart; she should have drawn a circle, with the moons going from waxing to waning all the way around... She hummed to herself a little, the way she always did when she painted. Her hair began to glow. A little shading here, a few light strokes in the middle of the full moon for the face that Rapunzel saw there... Circles and shadows and crosshatching... She worked extra hard on the profile of the fatter waxing crescent, where the moon would be now. She knew what it looked like as she felt her hand shape it. Her power surged; her hair began to sparkle. She looked around frantically for something to release her magic on. The first thing she saw was her tea, so she grabbed the red clay cup and wrapped the end of a braid around it. Just like with Pascal, sparks sprayed off her hair and over the object. When they faded they revealed... ... a heavy, crude clay cup. Rapunzel started to slump in disappointment-- and then noticed something. Where the hair had touched the sides, the cup was now shiny black, like onyx or obsidian.”

“She managed to summon her powers twice more by gazing at her mandala, and was tickled with the results: she turned her bright red coral bracelet glittering black, and a dish of pale yellow dye a bluish black. Of course she had no idea if the color was set by the phase of the moon or if it was simply the way she thought about the moon, set in a blue-black sky. But imagine if she could summon any color! She would never have to worry about getting the right paints again.”

“She waved desperately, putting her hand out the window, but wasn't sure anyone would be able to see it. "What can I do? What can I do to show them that I'm alive?" she wailed. Pascal just looked at her. "Oh, right," she said. "Not thinking at all. Thanks, buddy." She gathered up as much of her hair as she could and flung it through the window. Hard. Like a thousand baby spiders parachuting into the sky, it glittered and sparkled-- completely unmagically, just because of the sunlight-- before falling down to hang along the wall of the tower, rippling in the wind.”

“Before too long, the sex that had previously dominated our relationship became less urgent, and it wasn’t unheard of for us to postpone it in favour of a new series on Netflix or a quick snooze on the sofa. Dinnertime moved from the kitchen table to the living room sofa, where conversation was quickly replaced by the Channel 4 News. We stopped bothering to suppress our farts and gave up timing our toilet breaks so we wouldn’t inflict our smells on one another. Phone calls to friends grew longer and more frequent, and when we left the flat alone for a night out with mates we secretly rejoiced at the promise of a few hours of freedom. This isn’t to say that things were any worse than before; it was just no longer the free ride that we’d enjoyed during those first heady months of our relationship.”