His hair is dark and thick.
Dark and thick like the blood pumping through my veins hard enough I can hear it.
Dark and thick like the air I'm trying to pull into my lungs.
Dark and thick like the material my shoes are made out of. I stare at them as I pace in the green room before our dress rehearsal. I like the sound my heels make.
YOU ARE READING
The Diary of Margot Frank
Non-FictionA nonfiction account of a young girl's experiences in theatre, through vignettes.
