inkwellsbrimming
apples were, to say the very least, her favourite fruit. there was something inately romantic about having grown up in the south of italy, prancing along the rows upon rows of trees in the family orchard. the sun was warm and heavy, and her family had a small house - a boathouse, really - at the edge of a very small lake that katrina had refurbished into her own private vacation house because no one else wandered like she did. she always ate by herself on those summer days, and the most vivid memory she had left was biting into countless fresh, crisp apples.
a road trip. it was the only suitable answer to the question of "last summer before graduation; what are we doing?" becca looked over at me, her blonde hair shimmering under the scorching summer sun and i laughed, making a stupid face. i shoved my suitcase into the trunk of her car and slammed the lid down.
My body is a temple, Sarah whispered to herself. But with everything the doctor was saying, and how those snide, biting comments followed her around as she walked through the halls everything, she was being otherwise.
She knew deep down that she was beautiful, gorgeous, perfect. But sometimes, her own opinion didn't count much for anything.
the skyline was bleak, the sky behind the tall, imposing buildings was bright bright blindingly bright blue. she sighed into her teacup, staring into its murky depths. empty morning, she remembered him whispering. but that wasn't true, not yet. the sun had to rise above the rooftops and spread like wildfire. then it would be empty.
the lights in the room are too dim, she thinks to herself, trying to brush off the feeling of sinking loneliness in her bones. she shuts her eyes tight, substituting darkness for more darkness and feels no security. the covers are too heavy, and the wind is howling much too loudly for the middle of june. there's something missing, she thinks quietly to herself, biting her lower lip in frustration, curling into a tight ball and falling into fitful sleep.
the marble statue was white and stood proudly in the centre of the lonely hall. Gabriel looked at the masterpiece apraisingly and Raine huffed and fumed quietly in the corner as he disected her work with his eyes. he said something rude suddenly, his tone sharp and bitter, and she strode out of the room with a valkyrie's brutal grace, her heels click-clacking against the linoleum, each percussive tap a separate goodbye.
the prints that his mother had bought ninteen years ago were still hanging on their living room walls, glossy and horribly uninspired. sammy looked at them with disdain, asking himself how a set of work so unoriginal and boring could have become so popular. there's a loud noise outside and he tears the paper off the wall.