how Dalmatians get their dots


Trigger warning: racialized violence

Spots, he tried to hide them, shift them, cover them with barks, using an illusion to distract the viewer from the blatant things, black on white. She liked him for this insecurity, and all his blemishes, and wouldn’t have liked my use of the term ‘blemish,’ believing ‘blemish’ as loaded as ‘quality,’ when everyone generally does things to keep themselves and people they like alive, all imposed standards aside – standards themselves implemented to fear people into attending group meetings of the standards committees, anyway.

She pitied him and his fear of dots.

Stress would make her a better candidate for disease than he, in some irony, but, still, she wanted to be around him, because he was funny, and she could tell who he was.

He barked – she laughed.

Besides taking care of him, and his fear of dots, she was as relaxed as a stoned yoga teacher: When watching the news, for example, she stayed calm by repeating one-liners for why people were murdered for their race, as in Ferguson: They should expect to be shot, she said, if they look like that in my America.

A sentence did not need to make sense to others in order for it to provide you with comfort, especially true if you believe it to be insightful. She was not stressed, or confused, by stories. She took care of him, and his dots, and did not own a mirror. 

word by Liam Lachance

colour by Pablo Amargo

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