Work In Progress?

Hallo. I'm supposed to write a narrative for class, and this is what came out when I sat down to start. I'm wondering if it has potential, or if anyone has any advice on how to improve it so far. Normally I wouldn't post such a short piece, but I have no idea where to go with this, so I could use some outside eyes to help unblock my writer's block.

It's based on a recurring dream I've had a couple times since I was young. This group of people is locked up in a kind of huge barn (with big Cathedral windows as is mentioned in the story). There's no reason for their captivity, but eventually one of the men escapes.

xo

~

It was the thing he’d always loved about her.

They flapped and flipped and flopped, all bird bones and silky skin and huge, Italian gestures.

He thought of elves in a workshop when he looked at those hands, of colors and textures and wood being molded and squished into playthings. He thought of sinewy tree branches crackling under tugs of tightening tarps.

She was snapping her fingers now, reddened nails sunk in against white skin as she squeezed her fingers to her palm. She waved her hands in my face and I could see the blood where she’d bitten down on her fingernails. They didn’t give us nail clippers.

I took hold of her wrist and pushed her hands back to her sides, half expecting her elbows to creak. She grinned and stepped closer.

“What do you want for lunch?”

I looked up at the windows, Cathedral windows, stretching high into the sky and giving us the best view possible of what we were missing. Dust motes hung in the sunshine leaking in through crossbeams and cobwebs.

“Dust,” I told her.

She laughed and took a step back, writing something on her hand.

“They’re going to McDonalds,” she said, not looking at me. “Hugh could throw down some fries or something. Plus we have icing from yesterday, remember? That makes me think of milkshakes… Have you ever tried dipping your French fries in a milkshake?”

~