kryssiekinz
I bowed low to my king, my stomach churning with what he had asked me to do. My hands shook in my robe, but I would not let my feelings show. I was an assassin. Not a murderer. Not a torturer. Not a firing squad.
I knelt down and lifted the still wet mud to my face, breathing in the scent. The deer was not far ahead of me know. I had been tracking her for hours now, and noticed she had begun to lag behind. I strung my bow.
I felt it to my bones. "Sticks and stones" my ass. Words hurt like hell. They found the soft spots and tore. They took vital organs with them, like self esteem and confidence. I couldn't even remember the last time I had felt strong or beautiful. My hair was made fun of for being a normal color.
I stood there waiting, contemplating life. I listenied to the catchy music that for some reason fit my mood perfectly. Not too cold. Not too upbeat. Just mediocre, yet familiar. I guess this is a metaphor for my life, I thought, as we finally reached my floor and I stepped out.
writing since 2013 · 4 entries · 4 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Sierra showed up.
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the words Sierra reaches for
stoodwaitingcontemplatinglisteniedcatchymusicreasonfitmoodperfectlycoldupbeatmediocrefamiliarguessmetaphor