perfectlydiseased
She hears a ringing in her ears- it's all too much. Everything else FADES OUT as the buzzing takes over. Fuck, fuck, fuck, she thinks- I'm at work, I can't handle this; calm down Laura, calm down. The ringing continues. But then- as she's about to panic-
A white cloak is settled over her shoulders as she walks down the street, invisible to all that she sees. The air is thick and the sky is dark, not quite black but a hazy sort of purple. She will prevail, anonymously, to do her duty. She must.
She shakes her head and her bangs shake with it. She's twitchy, he thinks, body moving every few seconds it seems like, she's- she's like a bird actually. Big eyed and scared looking and constantly, constantly moving, looking around and never sitting still, yet never saying a word. Twitchy, he revises. She's twitchy.
His fingers reach out for his hand, the tips just tickling past his flesh, but-
Nothing. He can't get a grasp on his hand, can't reach the distance, can't manage to clasp what he wants- quite literally- in his hand.
she felt this way, but didn't look it. Couldn't see the lines when she looked in the mirror... But she felt it. Her heart, her chest, her lungs... They all felt withered and old and sad. Like they had lived too long too soon, seen too much in too short of a time frame. Her heart especially, cracked and dry and lonely.
there's a note on the dresser, but she doesn't need to read it to know what it says. At least the gist of what it says, anyway. He's gone. Gone. She's finally done it, pushed him too far.
"Oh god," she says aloud, shaking hands reaching for the paper, but really, already knowing that it's far too late for any sort of message to make a difference.
it's blue, a dark blue, maybe you'd call it a midnight blue if you were going to get technical. All he really sees though, is that it's cool. It's COOL. It looks like it would fit perfectly to his head, would look great with everything that he owns. It looks, it looks- it looks like someone else just picked it up.
Damn.
Move: left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right. You can do this, you can transform yourself, make everyone take back their opinions of you. You push yourself harder and faster. You can't run any more, you can't, but you do. You do it again and again, pushing those memories of the past a little further back every time that you succeed. And you do succeed, you make sure to succeed. You run.
The light burns her eyes as she fumbles into a bush, the torch spinning around and hitting her instead of the ground that's in front of her. She stills and takes a deep breath, closing her eyes for a minute and trying to get her bearings. Jesus it's dark. Jesus it's late. Jesus she's cold.
She's so very, very cold. But that doesn't matter, because right now she has to find him. She clicks the torch back on.
She thinks about it, she really does. But she doesn't end up going. "Because that would mean making a decision about something in your goddamn life, wouldn't it?" her sister mutters with a roll of her eyes.
Maybe, maybe not. She just... She's scared and this is big, and she's the opposite. She's not brave or big or great or strong or any of the necessary things. Any of the things that Sarah is.
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writing since 2011 · 34 entries · 32 days shown up
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