divegoddess
Jennifer bit the end of her pencil. Soon there would be nothing left but a gnawed stub. Her hair was falling tremulously out of its ponytail and a circle of coffee surrounded her lips.
Miley froze. Her heart pounded out a drumbeat in her ears. she could see the disappointed eyes around her as she struggled for the words. They just wouldn't swim through the butterflys in her stomach and spring fully formed from her mouth.
Meanwhile, the girl stared at the ticking of the clock. Her stare was vacant, her eyes incredibly dull for a little girl. The girl was no more than eleven years old and her long white shift only enhanced the innocence of her form.
Running from the enemy. She sprinted down the ass vault path, the heavy footsteps of soldiers behind her. She weaved through the compound, a foreboding feeling heavy within her soul coupled neatly with seven shades of panic. She had come to the conclusion that she was in a restricted area and that she really shouldn't have snuck in that night.
The wind howled with vicious ferocity. The girl cowered beneath her fathers worn out coat. She could feel the wind deep down in her very bones. It was killing her. The noise was killing her. She couldn't think, she couldn't breathe. She didn't know what she was going to do in the next thirty seconds before her inevitable death and honestly she didn't care.
The band started playing, their voices raised in triumphant praise. Shirley frowned, he really hated trumpets. Well he didn't exactly hate them, but they did get on his nerves. Especially when they were praising something so silly.
The little girl smiled, the sun glistening off her already sunburned cheeks. The sand was caked sloppily on her hands. Her mother lay bathing in the sun behind her and the little girl smiled. From my point of view they looked like the perfect little family of two.
She sighed, the sound low and bereft of hope. The morning was long and she was still tired. She waited for the toaster to ding and sipped her coffee. The bereft feeling she kept bottled up inside visible for only a moment before it was interrupted by the ring of her finished toast.
She was so angry. Just the kind of angry that makes you want to simultaneously cry and scream. She was just so sick of always getting back up. She had had to deal with so many injuries. She just could not handle it anymore.
The ground was slick with the life force of the vehicle. Black and shiny, the girl was in awe of the beauty of something so fundamentally awful. The girl had never realized the importance of the ugly things, the reason for the base ingredients of life.
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writing since 2011 · 29 entries · 29 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Mary showed up.
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