I pressed the eraser down. Rubbed. She gripped the metal railing with her other hand. I watched her face—the way her jaw tightened, how her eyes didn’t close but instead stared straight at the brick wall opposite us, as if she could see through it, past the city, past everything we’d ever known.
I never saw her again.
When I finished, the wound was deep. A red crater. A brand. eraser tattoo short story pdf