It was late, we were alone in the last train. Patiently I watched you as you checked your messages: I admired the way you kept going, as if everything was normal. We were going home, I knew you’d attempt to make peace, perhaps more.
I was a little bemused, hesitant maybe, after all, soon I would leave this silly substitute shape for a human body, and become again the woman I was, always were.
But you, my dear, my sweet sister, could you still be the friend I wanted? Or would you become jealous, envious of the looks of others, the preying eyes? Could you adapt to being what I was now? Of course I would make it as comfortable and cosy as I could…
I would take care of you, keep you dressed, and clean, always close to me.
As we were now, on that lonely train, soon home.
Such a perfectly weird story for a perfectly weird photo — how fun, and disturbing too!
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Okay, I’m hooked! The photograph is posed, isn’t it? It would have to be posed. I mean, what are the chances of running across such a picture accidentally? Nah. It’s posed. Isn’t it? Is it? Then I can see how the story was engendered. Absolutely. I can see that. It’s just a pity that sister dummy had to reach her comatose state after being so unprofessionally trepanned. I don’t think she’ll recover from that. But in private, with a little imagination…
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