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The Pool
The wet slap of the water hitting concrete echoes through the space. Anna's been sitting here for God knows how long in the bleachers around the 50 metre pool, semi-hidden behind a cement column. Her oil pastels are scattered, any pretense of working on her art folio abandoned. She can't stop watching him. Watching Rhys. She started coming here in winter, when the school swimming season was well and truly over. She'd bring an A3 sketchbook and work from memory, drawing birds,friends, still...
First Time