cattownsend
The iron fell, a split second after I moved my hand. "Lucky me," I growled, more out of frustration than out of shock. My luck was typically bad. A narrow miss with a hot iron was nothing.
"Last chance," I called out to him, my voice cracking. "You know you don't wanna miss this!" He turned and smiled at me.
"I'll see you tomorrow."
The secretary sat at her desk, straightening pencils and writing on her blotter. "He'll be out in a minute," she told me, without looking up, for the fiftieth time. I was beginning to wonder if he hadn't instructed her to just say that to everyone.
The poison floated through my veins, leaving me feeling giddy, a little dizzy, and fearless all at once. It was a strange sensation, this stuff. I wasn't sure I disliked it. I could imagine why other people might, though.
The answers I'd written were scribbled all over in red; it looked like my paper was bleeding from it. I read the comments - "More in-depth." "Not really." "I'm not sure you understand." - but the grade at the top read that I'd received an A-. I blinked and put the homework away before my teacher could take it back and give it the failing grade it truly deserved.
The elastic snapped as he unhooked my bra. "Dammit," I growled at him, whirling around. "Why the hell do you do that?"
He just grinned, unabashed by my frustration. "Because you're cute when you're angry, and unsnapping your bra is THE surefire way to piss you off."
There I was, driving along highway 9, when I saw it: A car veering off the road, followed by a scream of brakes and the crash of metal on metal. I blinked, though, and it was gone; no car, no crushed glass, just the sickening sensation of déjà vu resting in my midsection like I'd swallowed a 50-pound weight.
The canvas sat there, gleaming white, taunting me. I'd taken the stupid art class to please my mother - she was sitting beside me, dashing away with the paintbrush like it was the only thing preventing the second Coming of Jesus or something. My classmates, too, were daubing at theirs. Mine, however, sat there, waiting patiently for my muse to show up.
I can't see; I just looked up at the bare bulbs in the ceiling fan. I try to blink the afterimage away, but it remains as stark-white against the black of my eyelids. My roommate laughs at me. "What did you expect, silly girl," he asks jokingly.
"I dunno," I reply with a smile. "I guess I forgot I wasn't wearing sunglasses."
Wings are fluttering against the bars, the feathers - snowy and soft - singing softly against the metal. The angel sits, defeated.
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writing since 2011 · 18 entries · 17 days shown up
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