msannethrope

msannethrope

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Try though she might, she just couldn't seem to muster up any compassion for the guy. She didn't even know him, but something about him -- his habit of holding eye contact for way too long, his oiliness -- she just couldn't get past. It was getting to the point where she completely ignored him when she saw him coming.

Hope springs eternal, or so they say. Maybe hope falls like an anvil sometimes, though, right? I know it has for me.

She wandered through the library stacks, the scent of musty paper, ancient flaking glue, moth-eaten fabric, dust, wafting up. She ran her finger along the edges of the leathery bindings, feeling their age, wondering what secrets were trapped inside, sad in the knowledge that she would never have time to read them all, not in her four years here, not in a hundred.

iron

The taste of iron in my mouth, the warmth of the liquid dripping from my lips and down my chin, the feel of flesh between my teeth. The primal sensation of the tissue as it yields, diminishes, falls apart for me.

I guess I've been warned about this. It's not like I didn't know what would happen. They say that the only people who really understand it are other people who've been there, and I guess now the question is, am I smart enough to admit to myself how smart I'm not and to heed those warnings? I guess we'll find out. Smart money's on no.

As he gazed out the window at the rain drip, drip, dripping off the big tree out front, he considered the morality of what he was doing. He'd been able to justify it to himself so far, but it was starting to nag at him. He had felt bad the last time he'd seen her, so he figured that something wasn't right.

You suppose he said that. You suppose he must have; it certainly explains his behavior over the past month or two, doesn't it? You suppose it must have happened. Even though you can't quite remember. Even though you were there and it seemed so unreal at the time. You suppose it must have happened. You suppose it did.

He pressed the button with his finger, feeling every millimeter as it went down. He still didn't know what it was supposed to do. That red button, the one everyone knew wasn't to be pressed ever, under any circumstances. Well, nearly any circumstances. Nobody knew what it did. But they were all about to find out.

She tapped her foot nervously, trying like hell to focus on what the woman at the front of the room. Couldn't do it. Preoccupied with her own thoughts, she drummed away at the desk in front of her, even though she knew it must be annoying. She didn't care. A small bead of sweat trickled down between her eyes.

couch

Couch. What a difference that one letter makes! The old brown and orange couch we used to have, the 1970s in a piece of furniture. The lumpy old bed that folded away inside of it, on its metal frame. So uncomfortable but so convenient for those times that whoever came to visit ... unlucky them.

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writing since 2011 · 12 entries · 12 days shown up

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msannethrope wrote about morality
“As he gazed out the window at the rain drip, drip, dripping off the big tree out front, he considered the morality of what he was doing. He'd been able to justify it to himself so far, but it was sta…”

the words msannethrope reaches for

supposeguesssmartpaperdelicatemorningscenthomecouchinsidepressedbuttonfingerfeelingcircumstancespast