liquoricelaces
He grasped at her hand, gasping for air. Panic welled up inside his chest. He could feel it slipping, feel the slight warmness of her palm leaving his fingertips, the cool water surrounding his skin. His body drifted downwards, carried by the swirling currents and the weight of his body. His arms sink to his side. Closing his eyes, he waits for the cold to swallow him.
She watches the little girl play, watches the way the wind tousles her light blond sugar spun hair, the way her bright lips curve into the merriest of smiles. The girl runs up to her a fistful- a bouquet?- of flowers in her hand. Her laughter rings clear and gay. In her mind, she pictures her in a wedding gown, the same bouquet in hand, the same smile on her lips. She takes the flowers from the little girl, holding it to her heart the way one does a vivid sunset- knowing that sometime, it will soon end.
She stares at the wall before her. It is white- vacant, blank. Unobtrusive. But underneath the paint, she makes out the cracks and the chips, the unevenness about it. She sees the hurried strokes of the painter, the occasional caught brush hair. She hears the emptiness of the wall. She laughs a hollow laugh, almost smirking at the wall. Even it was not perfect, who's to say her? She continues to stare at the wall, almost willing the cracks on it to close.
"Systems and Operations," the sign read. He breathed a heavy sigh. He didn't like working this life. An endless, unceasing god awful cycle. He hated the word system itself. It implied something ordered and fixed, something stuck. He felt like he was trapped in the making of his own being- he himself was made of systems after all.
The swelling and ebbing of the water fascinated her. It was as if it was luring her, calling for her to walk further, to go deeper. She could almost see herself walking in, step by step, until the water washes right over her head and she is fully submerged in that astounding, never ending blue. It would be beautiful.
She held the baby up into the weak morning light. Fair cheeks, soft dewy skin, thick long eyelashes, red lips. She'd grow up to be someone beautiful. Maybe she'd become an actress, a model, a high powered lawyer, a mother. She didn't know. She didn't want to know. Sucking in a deep breath, she placed her in front of the warmly lit house. Snowflakes drifted down and around her, swirling like the cut up pieces of her heart. "Bye bye baby," she whispers, "don't come back." She rings the door bell and leaves.
You liked to talk. You like to talk about nothing and everything- the weather, the stew, what was on TV, nothing, nothing, everything. You talked even though you made no sense. You talked even if no one else was there to hear. But still I listened, I listened because i loved the sound of your voice- the way it rung in certainty, the way it softened in sadness. Your voice was an orchestra to my ears, filled with Allegros and Adagio, Vivace and Grave. So I listened, I listened and I did not speak. I listened till my vocal chords turned to dust, my mouth no longer opened. I listened till I lost the shape of words on my tongue. And still I listened, ever quiet, to your voice. Talking and talking about nothing and everything.
He was a fine horse, from his proud stance, to his steady gait, to the way he tossed his head in the air, pawing the ground with all the certainty in his eyes. Yes, he was a fine horse.
His master took hold of his reign. The horse neighed, almost as if he to say he was ready. Determination and adrenaline coursed through his veins as he stepped forward. His eyes never left the enemy.
But all this while, he thought only of his warm, comfortable stable. Back at home.
The horse charged forward.
She sunk into the couch, taking in the feel of the soft leather molded against her body. Her bare feet were scrunched deep into the soft carpet floor, her head laid back onto the top of the couch. Her eyes were closed, a half smile gracing her lips. She was dreaming. Soft music, lighted candles, rose petals…
“Excuse me miss, may I help you?” a voice rung, bringing her back to reality.
“Oh it’s okay… I was just… trying.” She hurriedly said. The sales assistant narrowed his eyes.
“It’s premium white leather. Made in Germany. Would you like-” He offered.
She took one last wistful look at the couch, before cutting him off.
“No, it’s okay.”
lazy. in front of the tv. bliss. badddd for back! :P Getting nagged at. a lazy person who doesn't do work (a leech). Annoying.