perfectlydysfunctional
The fire radiated so intensely through the television, even she could feel the heat of the burning building. She watched as the doors exploded into a fit of dust, and soon, there was nothing left but a notion of fear flooding through her stomach.
She held the music box in her hands and watched the tiny ballerina dance on her fragile feet. The exterior was no longer white, but has been rusted to a soft yellow. The gold paint was chipping away, and the song now sounded distorted with age.
He took one good look at her and said, "She's a wonder."
First she heard it: the first whistle, loud and low. Then she felt it: the trembling platform, shaking at the sudden change of atmosphere. Finally, she saw it: large, red, steam floating from the steal pole at its front. But before it could pass her, she jumped.
He stood at the platform, behind the large grey train station. The sliding was chipping away with age, as was his patience. He waited and waited yet heard no sound; there were no whistles, no alarms. The train never came, and neither did she.
She embraced him for the last time; all her thoughts of him were swept away, like the ocean waves returning to sea after a long run onto the sand. The wind whipped her hair, and like the waves, he was gone.
Beloved; that was who she was. That was how she felt. Beloved. It was a sense of awe and fascination. It was closeness and freedom. No chains, no shackles. Not too much space. Just beloved; it was all she needed.
Every morning, I rise from bed. I rise with the sun, set with the moon. I rise at six, set late at night. I don't even understand what I'm writing. I am the biggest contradiction in the world. Or am I? I have no idea. I think I'm still high, but I can't tell... Can I end this early, or no?
Tomorrow's my last day of school, and it'll be the last time I'll have some of these people as my teachers. It's sad, but as a high school student, I know I'll be seeing them next school year (which may be unfortunate, seeing certain teachers - cough Ms. Feng cough). Everyone's had a different teaching style to accompany their field, and it's been a long run, but I'm happy I've taken the time to meet some of these teachers (though I will be having the same mathematics teacher and the same English teacher because I'm interning for her); it's been cool meeting new people in class as well. I'm friends with kids I never thought I'd talk to in a million years.
In the corner of the room there was a box. There was nothing written on it. Just six brown faces, closed at the top. She walked over to the dark corner, enticed by its simplicity. Upon opening it, it was not simple at all. Colors burst out, enveloping the plain room with life and disorder. Although she was known for being meticulous and routinely, she thought it was a nice change from ordinary; it was the most beautiful thing she's ever seen.
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