by Bella B
I’m completely in your hands. The end of the paintbrush flicks fast over my pale-painted cheek in a delicately unfathomable pattern, a flower, a rainbow, a butterfly. I am transformed, and transformed by you, a stranger. Later, I sleep without washing my face; it’s late, I’m tired. And in the night, my pale cheek paints a faded multitude of flowers, rainbows, butterflies onto the pale pillow. And in the morning, I am still transformed.
6S
Bella B, who blogs at The Flying Pen, is 14 years old and has been changing who she is since she was old enough to talk. Four younger siblings give her the excuse to use face paint on a regular basis. Hurrah. She lives in England with said siblings and unsaid parents.