Cold Acrylic Slump

Putting my cheek down onto my hands wasn't an invitation to turn this into a permanent nap. But since you specifically dictated every millimetre of this routine, fine. I slid my palms together flat against the cold black acrylic floor, lowered my torso until my ribs brushed the platform, and pressed the side of my face straight onto the back of my fingers. The oversized grey knit shirt puddled down in loose folds, completely exposing one bare shoulder to the ambient chill while my hips stayed propped back on my knees. I stared sideways through my black frames into the glossy reflection with flat, sullen stillness. The plastic is freezing, my patience is gone, and this shoot is officially over.

1 Nauk