“When I was eleven they fucked me up. Now I’m just you’re horny little bitch, daddy.” She plucked a bra strap from her shoulder. “I just wanna fuck all the time, just fuck all the time. I can’t help it. They fucked me up. Now I’m you’re cute little slut.”
His face illuminated by a pinkish glow that leaked from the screen. It was raining outside. Bars of neon flashed through the half-closed blinds.
She was almost completely naked now, writhing around her own fingers. Smiling.
The room behind her adorned with soft teddies and plush dolls. Her nails were pink. Her hair was ashen, tipped with pink.
“I wish you could come over and fuck me,” she toyed with the tip of her finger. His grin grew. She sluiced her fingers through her thick hair. “I want you so bad.” He stifled a laugh. Silly girl.
The stream count ticked up. Four-hundred and twenty two pairs of eyes watched as she writhed around. Speaking in childish whispers. Trapped in the confines of their screens.
Now she had a pure white teddy, with a black nose. Just like a polar bear.
He leaned in close to the screen, hunched over the keyboard and let his fingers dance. Tap, tap, tap. Silly, silly girl.
The next day a girl with pink-tipped ashen hair walked down a crowded street. Buildings towered far above her decorated with screens and holograms that outshone the late-morning sun. People stood shoulder to shoulder, waiting for the bus. Cars sat unmoving in gridlock on the lower roads. Far above the sound of traffic bounced down from the upper highways.
Craning her neck to see straight up, seeing seagulls spiralling.
She leaned against the bus-stop shelter. The screen tried to convince her she needed an octopus-branded energy drink with a series of vivid cartoons over a lime-green backdrop.
The traffic shuffled a little. The pink-tipped ashen haired girl could see her bus a long way down the road, trapped in a mire of humming engines. She sighed and folded her arms.
A seagull, sat on the shelter opposite from hers, regarded her with curiosity. She stuck her tongue out at it, wrinkling her nose.
She stared at her trainers.
The advert beside her changed from lime-green to pink. People were looking up from the slips of glass in their palms.
Murmurs and gasps. Even a few laughs. People stopped in the middle of the street and looked up and around them. Some covered their gaping mouths. Others pointed.
Someone bumped into her. She looked up.
Her heart pumped in her ears, flushing them a hot red. Her spine slicked with a greasy, cold sweat.
On billboards, on holographs, on phones. Reflected in puddles, in windows, in pupils. On the lips, the teeth, the eyes of the whole city; a naked girl with pinked-tipped ashen hair played with a teddy. A pure white teddy, with a black nose. Just like a polar bear.
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