anyaa
"You need to lock all your sick, sick ideas in your head, all right?" Ms. Brown told him, her voice a hysterically high pitch. "Don't you ever, ever write about those things again, did you hear? Certainly not in my classroom."
"Who's the manager of this place?" the blonde with the botched dye job barked out with a glare. "This woman has to go!"
I barely managed to avoid rolling my eyes. "I'm the manager, okay?"
"Each step is fundamental to getting your life back together!" he exclaimed excitedly, shoving a bright yellow paperback with an old, smiling man in the front.
When I looked less than thrilled at this and refused to take the book from his hand, he faltered and asked, hesitantly now, "You do want to be better, don't you?"
There was Muse playing in the living room and the entire place stunk of nicotine and marijuana, but he still couldn't find the stupid asshole in the midst of all the smoke and noise. He heaved a sigh and ran up to the bedroom to the tune of 'Our Time is Running Out'.
"Perfect," he thought. The fucking editor would have his dick, he knew.
The rabbit on the counter was not amused when I returned back from the store without his watch.
"I ran out of money," I said, with a shrug. "You know I spent it all."
He sniffed and pointed his pink nose high up in the air. "I don't even pity the fool that lets herself fall into drugs. I want my watch back by 1:00."
I smirked then. "But how will I know when 1 is?"
There they were, a band of losers against the rising tide of criticism. Their mothers just sighed at them now as they held their hands together to defend themselves against the tide, because they knew just as they and the rest of the world did that not one of them would ever float to the top in the end.
The stack of pancakes and the red bull she consumed for breakfast worked against her, creating pricks of pain where the dull comfort of fullness was supposed to be. Her textbook lay unused on her bedside stand, but nothing, not even the fear of failing the class, could make her reach for it again.
"Why is there a skeleton in your closet?" she asked, mouth gaped open at the oddly neon pink arrangement of bones in front of her.
He shrugged, as if finding skeletons in everyday situations like these were a normal thing. "It's from Halloween, okay? Don't judge."
The ticket stub stuck out of the pocket of his jeans.
"Been to the movies, yeah?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Uh...yeah," he said, and covered his pocket with his shirt again. "This was...this was from months ago."
"But I don't like violets."
"Stop whining, child, or She will come back and whip your ass."
The row of violets in the garden twinkled with dew, but her eyes twinkled with tears.
writing since 2011 · 10 entries · 10 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Anya showed up.
4longest streak
10days written
4.4entries / week
the words Anya reaches for
againstvioletstwinkledeyespocketvoicepinktidenowwatchranmanagersickstopwhiningchild