figure
There was a big black lock on the door, a heavy padlock. I always was scared to touch it, even if I had the key, which I didn't always have, since I thought it was made of lead. I assumed it was cold when the weather was cold and hot when it was hot out. It took me a while to realize that people's hearts weren't supposed to work that way.
The bird was so cute. It laid a nest outside of our house. He thought it was charming how the papa bird would stay with the eggs--and later babies--in the nest while the mother went out to find food. When our dog killed the father, though, we knocked down the nest with a broom and ate some very delicious dove stew for dinner.
Sick and nauseous. I lay in bed. My skin is pale and my fingernails are yellow and brittle, cracking off. I am tired of living, struck with the disease called "death." I can't find a cure, and I can't escape this diagnosis. I can only speed up the pace of the illness.
The ticket popped out of the machine with a click. She was scared, and felt a shiver run up from her toes to the tips of her short, blonde hair. This was no ordinary computer. Towering high above the other buildings, this supercomputer was about to give her the ride of her life. And she would let it.
The sound of the megaphone adjusting hurt her ears normally. Normally she would have thought of ripping it right out of the hands of the person holding it. But this time was much different. They were calling out to her husband, dangling stories above off the top of a building, urging him desperately that he still had so much to live for.
A gentle clap of the cup on the table, be careful not to leave a little dark ring on the wood behind. A reserved manner, a way of selfless politeness rooted in the very idea of not making others uncomfortable in any way.
She closed her eyes, burning against her eyelids. Her throat was choking her and stomach muscles clenched her insides. It felt like her very body was betraying her. But this was the price to pay for truth. She had to tell them.
Laying awake at night. Nothing sexual, or if it is sexual, more innocent. His heart was in his throat thinking of her in the dark. He was fully clothed, laying in bed, the sweet summer wind drifting through the window.
Being drawn to someone. Wanting. Can’t stop the feeling. Needing. Spur of the moment and eternal youth immortality. Drinking deep and not caring about the bellyache or indigestion later. Doing what needs to be done for right now to be amazing.
writing since 2011 · 10 entries · 8 days shown up
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laternestdrawnwantingstopfeelingneedingspurmomenteternalyouthimmortalitydrinkingdeepcaringbellyache