cadaver
There were paperclips all over the floor alongside with every single item that his desktop one had held. He was underneath that desktop, legs close to his chest and face buried in his knees, crying.
Then he looked up at me and pointed at a bunch of papers that were held together by bright blue paperclips... they were the divorce papers.
Optimism wasn't my best trait. It wasn't actually a trait of mine at all. Whenever something went wrong, black clouds lingered over for as long as the reminder of that one wrong thing lived in my memory. Whenever something went right, it was just pure luck and it was bound to be ruined by the black clouds, because it was destiny that always played against me.
No ship can be called like such if there's no cannon decorating the surface. And this was just like her. She couldn't be herself without having some sort of weapon, grenade, pistol, something, to protect herself from the exterior, from those who dared to come close enough and threaten her.
She laid on bed, looking hopelessly at the typewriter, her hands caressing the letter cases, in position to start any time soon. But there were no words craving to escape; there was nothing she could say. But she laid still, awaiting restlessly for the inspiration to arrive.
There was a feathered boa tightly caressing his neck. One tight knot hanged from the ceiling, while the other was constricting his neck, preventing oxygen from going into his longs; something that could have threatened his pleasurable moment.
It was definitely something I never did before, but he liked it and it meant less "emotional" bonding, or name-calling.