H. Hairbrush

Lucy slides out from behind her desk, the milky white of her paper stained with letters of the alphabet seeming too daunting for her to continue. She walks over to an adjacent desk, flicks her lamp’s switch to reveal a gush of golden hue. The crystals adorning it reflect the window light, the lamp resisting its own emission, causing its tassels to tremble slightly. As Lucy picks up her brush, her fingers caress its fine hair. She watches her pink flesh undertones turn white as she presses her fingertips into its teeth. The presence of her brush disturbs her, and she cannot withstand odd numbers of objects residing on her table. She quickly places her brush back in its resting place.