Entries By WearyWater
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The room was in pieces. The mantle was hanging by a few splinters of wood and the contents of every drawer were scattered across the floor. A stack of muddied, crumpled papers lay haphazardly on top of the upended rocker. She had come in behind me. “My god, what happened in here?” She saw the papers and gave a piercing shriek. “My sketches!”Posted By WearyWater On 05.15.2013 @ 9:06 pm
I knew that it was some sort of strange, incomprehensible cultural taboo, but I couldn’t stop myself. I kissed her. It was short and sharp, but we both knew that it had happened. Just as quickly, she shoved me away. Her eyes were dark and fearful. “What have you done?”Posted By WearyWater On 05.13.2013 @ 9:49 pm
In her hurry to leave, her shoulder collided with a thin, angular auburn haired boy. He whipped around faster than she thought was possible. “Watch it,” he snarled. His eyebrows cast deep shadows over his eyes, which were more of an unsettling yellow than hazel.Posted By WearyWater On 05.12.2013 @ 9:46 pm
Sometimes I wish I had blue eyes. Or green, or hazel, or black, or anything else. Every other option is more interesting than brown. But blue is magnificent, mystical… The color of incredibly hot flames, of celestial, star-studded canopies of night, or the rumbling wash of the ocean. It all comes back to genetics, I suppose. Like so many others, I’ve gotten the short end of the stick.Posted By WearyWater On 05.11.2013 @ 10:47 pm
Her fingers picked threads numbly. There was hardly any light left now, just strange, slanted rays of dirty purple dusk leaking in through the barred windows in stripes. The sun would set completely soon. The loom creaked as she wove the threads faster, not noticing the slices in her fingertips from the tightening strings.
She wouldn’t be able to finish before nightfall.Posted By WearyWater On 05.10.2013 @ 10:35 pm
There wasn’t any soap in the shower, so I merely washed myself with the putrid lavender shampoo. The picture on the front featured a woman running through a waist-deep field of the purple flowers, arms flung out and carefree. I took a sniff of the contents, and immediately my eyes began to itch. It had most definitely been abandoned in there for a reason.Posted By WearyWater On 05.09.2013 @ 9:56 pm
There are days when all he can think about are the confines of his house. Like it’s an aquarium, and he is just a dead fish, floating insignificant and belly-up at the top of the murky water. His parents are on the outside, a distorted babble of angry voices and loud, urgent thumps–the sound of eager fingers on a tank.
He’s tired. If he could, he’d lay all day long on his bed. He’d drown in the sheets and never have to worry about coming up for air again. He’s tired of having to hide when they fight. He’s tired of all the fighting and paperwork, the choice of whom he’d rather have as parent. He’d like to launch his bed out to sea and simply drift away into peaceful oblivion.Posted By WearyWater On 05.03.2013 @ 10:08 pm
The nurse had a brusque, no-nonsense manner of accomplishing her tasks. “No matter,” she said, pulling off the bedgown that I had just spilled my lunch all over in a movement so fast I couldn’t have avoided it. “We’ll just have to walk down and get you a clean one.”
Extreme awkwardness and discomfort ensued.Posted By WearyWater On 04.30.2013 @ 9:26 pm