crazytheatrechick
Cynthia understood, she had too. The guy whom she had been not so secretly infatuated with for eleven years had just come out to her. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him and told him that it was okay. If his dad hurt him for it, she would kill him. Cynthia understood. She always did.
The light off the piles of Junk cast odd shadows as I made my way through the piles. My Blond hair escaping the confines of the camouflage Yankees cap I had tucked it into. I could hear my mother's voice screeching in my ear as I walked through the yard. "Now Lizzie, don't go playing around junkyards."
The ocean beckons just beyond that sandy strip. Only our voices laughing and talking can be heard barely over the crash of waves and the call of seagulls.
It was wood paneling and the smell of coffee that she loved. It reminded her of home, of Drake...of her old life that she left behind for New York.
the silk paneled dressing screen was the first thing Cynthia had bought when she bought her apartment. "I liked it, and it reminded me of you." She admitted. "Beautiful, but virtually pointless.
I hate using the microwave, it seems so complicated. If you screw up you end up drying out your left over hot wings. I don't like dried hot wings...I like Drake..but not dried hot wings.
Dionysus hopped up on to the bed and curled up next to me, his whiskers tickling my nose. "Hey Big D." I murmured to the black cat, careful not to wake up Cynthia. My roommate might have been a pain in the arse, but after today even I felt sorry for her...
writing since 2010 · 9 entries · 7 days shown up
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cynthiahotwingsdionysushoppedbedcurledwhiskersticklingnoseheymurmuredcatcarefulwakedried