thebloomster
She fastens the buttons of her dress all the way up to the collar. Looking in the mirror, she wonders if this shade of blue suits her as well as they said it did. Her small breasts look even more unimpressive than usual cloth, which really only looks like a man's shirt taken in under the breasts. Angry, she rips the collar and the buttons go flying.
She grabs her bag and leaves with torn front and bared collarbone.
Lucas' mother bustled about the kitchen, a blur of green plaid apron and fiery curls. She listed off chores and a number of other things as she washed the dishes but Lucas only stared at her with unyielding contempt. This woman was pretending to be his mother and it tore him apart to watch her use his mother's face and voice as if they were her own.
The cigarette smokes wound up into the air, curling softly in light gray plumes until disappearing into nothing. A series of fiery orange and pink strokes spread across the sky behind the the dark silhouettes of buildings.
I squint but the colors don't return. In the few rays of light provided, everything appears to have a sepia glow. The smell of cigarettes and burning leaves somehow brings an old movie feel to the room.
She looked to the sky.
"Problem?"
His voice was a welcome distraction from her thoughts but she couldn't tear herself from the clouds.
"No."
"Okay."
Without a word, he lied down next to her to watch the clouds. When she chanced a glance to the side, she felt the knowledge in her breast and the warmth that came with it was enough to battle the winter chill
Peter knew it the moment they ran away from the Kingsmen together. The flutter in his chest confirmed it. Giving in to the feeling would ensure his death but he couldn't lie to her any longer. He cupped her cheek in his calloused hand.
Claire rested her hand over his. "Peter? Why do you look so sad?"
Before he could even speak, his knees buckled. Peter Pandemonium dropped to the ground, dead before the grass met his face or the tears dropped from his eyes.
"It's just a token of their admiration, Peter. They look up to you." Diantha stroked the petals one-by-one, bringing color back to the wilted edges and lifting them with a new life.
The redhead scowled. "Shut up, Di."
"It's okay. I understand."
Peter huffed and continued on their walk without a word.
Books piled high, like twirling staircases almost scraping the cracked ceiling. There was almost nothing else in the house other than books. Not one book case could be found. A chair might exist in the sea of pages, he wouldn't know. Only the kitchen was less buried than the rest, if only for fire hazards and such.
Natalie lacked all of this. Her entire facade was created to hide this and most of her life spent covering it up like a cranberry juice stain on white carpet.
He signed dreamily as heb leaned against the fence. When he looked up, Cass saw Benjamin smoking in the usual place on the roof. It was a foreign feeling when he realized how he wanted to prance up there and greet him with some manner of hug. Nonetheless, Cass was liking these feeling that Benjamin made him have. He knew, from close observation, that Benjamin probably felt the same way.
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writing since 2011 · 34 entries · 25 days shown up
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