Bramblepoint Make it after all

The statue looked back at her, a glance over his shoulder. Perceiving her. Observing. Like looking over at an animal within a zoo; locked in a cage that was her past, her present, and—inevitably—her future. The bars, made of iron, welded together with the fear that drove her spirit. The engine that enabled her to run.

His amusement did not go unnoticed. An expression drawn without a word—until there were five. Aren't you a bold one. Dangerous words. A flag wove within her mind, scarlet in all of its intensity. His eyes, a similar, softer version of her own, scanned her figure, and Georgia stared back at him. No words spoken yet. Her tongue stilled.

In the length of a second, she had become that little girl once more. The one who ran away. Who had always been the deer in headlights. She watched, eyes careful, almost squinted in a kind of defiance, as the man turned his head, looking at her fully.

An ugly crater was left where an eye should be. Without a sphere to fill it, the thing was unnatural looking. What word was there other than ugly? That's what it was. Ugly. Join me, he had said. And that was when she had finally spoken, her southern accent rolling from her pink tongue. Careful. Moderated.

How do I know ya ain't gonna hurt me, stranger? It was the peach's turn to scan him, then. You might be dangerous. Lookin' at me all smug, like.