transientme
She was an orphan of her own mind. Because she believed herself to be alone, she was. It wasn't so much that others had stopped wanting to love her, they simply couldn't. Her belief in loneliness was overwhelming not just to her but everyone around her. Until, finally, she sat in the snow in solitude.
She was on the strugglebus, for sure. The line of customers was reaching to the door. Her coworkers were moving at the awkward pace of slow but hurried. And here this lady was, trying to tell her that the way she'd said the order was wrong.
She hadn't thought this would happen. The car laid on its top in the snow and slick, warm blood slid down her face. How she'd survived the trip down the hill as the car rolled over and over, she didn't know. But now she was at the bottom with no way to get back up.
It could've been plausible if it hadn't been impossible. Or perhaps the opposite. It was possible but not plausible. Weren't there scientific laws against things like flying and shooting lasers? Wasn't it against nature to watch someone so small attack someone so large and win? It twisted her brain.
It was a stencil, that was for sure. But that did not make the design any less elaborate.
He studied it for a moment, trying to discern the importance of such graffiti at a crime scene. It would obviously take not just the time to do it in the moment but time to create the stencil beforehand. This was not spur of the moment.
Emotions were her native tongue, he realized. The way she opened her arms and closed her eyes, as though letting all the world into her and pushing all of herself out. He had never seen her do this. Emotions had been twisted many times before in front of him. But this display was never necessary.
writing since 2014 · 6 entries · 6 days shown up
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momentemotionsherselftwistedstencilsuretryingplausibleagainstcarsnownativetonguerealizedopenedarms