All These Little Things

Estelle sat cross legged on her bed, her hands clasped prayer-like before her face, the forefingers lodged inside her nose. She wiggled them back and forth, feeling the tiny hairs inside. “What do I want?” She asked herself. She thought of the Jell-O and shook her head. “I hate the damn fruit they put in it -so mealy. But I am going to have the chicken.” She was enthusiastic, ready to join the others in the dining room where she’d found some followers. Some who looked up to her, admired her, pitied her for the scars on her face and the story she told of how they got there.