ninetailneko
A proper lady must always have proper etiquette. She must know how to dine elegantly and without dropping any food on herself. She must speak properly and use manners at all times. And, most unfortunately, she must know how to walk and dance like a proper lady.
"Kill me now," he said to himself as he walked tediously across the room, pointed heels on his shoes, and a thick book balanced on his head.
At the foot of the hill, he could see the slowly burning village, hear the screams of children, feel the heat rising from the bright flames, and smell the omnipotent scent of burning death.
He shifted his eyes to the burned out match in his hand, then to multiple large bottles of petrol at his feet. He felt a spark of regret deep in his heart, but quickly stomped it out.
"This is the only way," he told himself. "A plague doesn't just go away."
He coughed slightly, then he turned and left his charred home-town behind him forever.
There's one word she can never bear to hear.
When it reaches her ears, she immediately stiffens and looks at her feet. You can call her name, tell her to go do them quickly and it will be over, and she simply looks up at you. Behind her uniquely amber eyes, you can see a montage of painful memories being brought back by that one word.
To her, chores are simply another form of cruel torture.
The canvas is splattered in shades of blues and greens, creating the image of a cool summer ocean.
I glare at the peaceful colours; it was not at all what I wanted.
Looking at the palette of colours, I grin, and dip my brush in the bright maroon, and turn my picture into a scene of bloodshed.
A clown; rosy red face, and brightly coloured hair.
A lion; a mane of thick golden locks, and a fierce expression.
Looking around at the people I know, I realise something I'd always missed.
This was the cast of the freak-show that is my life.
The sun; it's bright, it's warm, it's the main source of energy.
I sit up, and look at the blooming flowers surrounding me. I finger the green stem of an iris, and smile. Peace, lovely peace.
It never lasts very long, does it?
writing since 2011 · 6 entries · 6 days shown up
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brightproperpeacethicklookingcolourswordhearfeetquicklysimplybehindeyesburninghimselflady