Sandra Tena
Stories (80)
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Freedom! '21
It was nearly two years ago that I modelled for a friend's bodyart meetup and made up my own design. Lockdown had just ended (not that many people followed through in the UK), and the theme for the meet was Freedom. I had just been doing a short run of one of our original His & Hers Theatre Company productions, and the night before the meet, right during the intermission of the play I was doing, I got a message from my artist, Sammie Robyn Banks, saying that she had been incredibly busy and that I could be free to design my own paint, if I could send her pictures before we met up the next day. I, being due to be on stage in 5, wasn't able to send her pictures until the next morning, but we were able to text for a little bit after the play to ensure we were thinking something similar: she suggested George Michael's "Freedom! '90", which I absolutely loved, and we took it from there.
By Sandra Tena3 years ago in Art
Beautiful Thief
She stretched majestically, recharging after half an hour of writing. Her Star Trek top was incredibly alluring, I must say! I wondered if she was writing Sci-Fi. As she stretched her arms upwards, joining her hands and shaking her head gently, her black locks cascaded down her back.
By Sandra Tena3 years ago in Fiction
Night
Her All bets are on the table. All bets in my hand. My heart in my hand. Even more precarious than wearing my heart on my sleeve. It can be taken away more easily. Besides, I am not wearing any sleeves. I feel gorgeous. I feel great. I am winning. So why is there an empty feeling in my stomach? I’d like to dance the night away. I’d like to be in his arms and feel safe. But that is nowhere near to happen. It’s best to stay here and continue betting. As long as I am winning nothing can go wrong. I hate that he just flew off to the poker. Left me alone again. Maybe he knows I’ll be fine. Am I fine? I want to win another round. All bets are on the table and all the men are looking at me and all the women are judging me. I sense interest in the fellow to my right. Is it interest in me or in my winnings? Doesn’t matter, I find it all the same, I have no interest in going off with strangers. Another win, come on. Give me another win. I need another win. And the lights wash away the sleep, or at least wash away the deep night outside and we can all stay here for hours, winning, losing, doing what we do best and believing that the next time we will win again. All bets are on the table.
By Sandra Tena3 years ago in Fiction
