yayitskristin
The pediatrician was an elderly gentleman. An old soul with old glasses and an even older haircut. His office, though sterile, was homely, like a grandmother's parlor. Knick-knacks decorated his desk.
There was nobody on the bridge as she slowed to a stop. Her sneakers squished along the rain-soaked timbers. She dropped her elbows over the railing and ducked her head. Her breath still pulsed quickly out of her chest as the water slipped smoothly away below her.
I have never been skiing. The wind whisks through the strands of hair escaping from my cap. I look down the long slope of ice and fear, the tips of my awkward extended feet balancing over the edge.
The denim stuck to her legs, a sheath of taught, damp fabric that moved uncomfortably along with her every step. In this heat, she wanted nothing else than to trade the jeans for something less restrictive, but the harsh winds and biting sand required something protective.
The lemon tree stood sentry in the backyard. Its branches brushed the top of the fence, its fragrant leaves rubbing against the wood with every brush of wind. She stood beneath it, shielding her eyes against the noonday sun.
He followed his routine exactly everyday. He arose from bed, padded to the bathroom, and brushed his teeth for a minute and a half. He rinsed his mouth with the cup that stood by the sink.
Her genetics showed through in every freckle that dotted her forehead. Her dark green eyes were flecked with the memories of her mother.
The flea fled in a flight of fancy. "I shall flee," said the flea. "Where shall you flee, flea?" asked the fly. "I will flee to wherever a flea can be free," cried the flea, as he delighted in homonyms.
Her flee from the mountain was swift. She could feel their eyes on her back as she sped down the rocky slope. Her feet crunched roots and dried leaves beneath her jagged path. Her legs pounded down the mountainside, aided by gravity's punishing help.
She stood, baffled, at the spot where her car used to be. The keys hung uselessly in her lax grip. The wind swept through the empty spot, twisting the dirt along the ground. The glaring nothing-ness taunted her.
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writing since 2011 · 54 entries · 53 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Kristin showed up.
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the words Kristin reaches for
stoodagainstwindhairunderstandeyesblackfleabraidshoulderwhiteschoolfeelingwateralongflee