Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Friday, March 13, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Revised and Unfinished.
I wrote this over a year ago and edited it a little bit. It's still unfinished.
PART I
She woke up early in the morning, as her brittle fingers were a little bit more than forced to press the snooze button of the awakening alarm clock. Pulling open the curtains, as she looked out of the window and saw the reflection of her self, as the feeling of the mid-October air chilled every part of her skinny frame down to the very last bone. Routinely getting ready as the cold razor blade ran up her long legs and the sweet fragrance of her new body wash tickled her nose. She stepped out of the shower as the soft Ralph Lauren bath robe grazed upon her silky skin. She examined her self-conscious body in the mirror, then quickly slipped into her school uniform in the fear of being late for class. A pleated kilt, a fresh white button-down blouse, knee-high socks and a wool v-neck pullover. She applied jet black mascara to her already-long-and-dark lashes, and slightly tinted her cheeks with blush. She ran out of her room, barely brushing her hair, but still having it look as if she had done so. She left her house, scurrying to the closest subway station to catch the next train. Business men and women vigorously rushing by, little children holding the hands of their mothers as they were dropped off at the local daycare centre, and all the other high school girls giving her a bitter look filled with nothing but pure envy. But… envious of what? Jealousy isn’t even a factor. With all that happening in the chaotic Toronto morning rush, no one seemed to notice the fact that the girl in which everyone somewhat admired wasn’t as brisk as everyone thought she was all out to be. She was trying to forget about everything. She wanted to ease her mind. But “he” was more than life to her. More than the air that she breathed, more than what daddy’s money could ever buy. Every minute of the day had a feeling of grief as the pounding memories rushed back to her mind, making her regret every word she said, every action she made. She blamed everything on herself. But was it really her fault? With that question in mind, she stepped off of the crowded train with the bottom of her leather Marc by Marc Jacobs ballet flats touching the dirty ground of the station and quickly made her way to class.
PART I
She woke up early in the morning, as her brittle fingers were a little bit more than forced to press the snooze button of the awakening alarm clock. Pulling open the curtains, as she looked out of the window and saw the reflection of her self, as the feeling of the mid-October air chilled every part of her skinny frame down to the very last bone. Routinely getting ready as the cold razor blade ran up her long legs and the sweet fragrance of her new body wash tickled her nose. She stepped out of the shower as the soft Ralph Lauren bath robe grazed upon her silky skin. She examined her self-conscious body in the mirror, then quickly slipped into her school uniform in the fear of being late for class. A pleated kilt, a fresh white button-down blouse, knee-high socks and a wool v-neck pullover. She applied jet black mascara to her already-long-and-dark lashes, and slightly tinted her cheeks with blush. She ran out of her room, barely brushing her hair, but still having it look as if she had done so. She left her house, scurrying to the closest subway station to catch the next train. Business men and women vigorously rushing by, little children holding the hands of their mothers as they were dropped off at the local daycare centre, and all the other high school girls giving her a bitter look filled with nothing but pure envy. But… envious of what? Jealousy isn’t even a factor. With all that happening in the chaotic Toronto morning rush, no one seemed to notice the fact that the girl in which everyone somewhat admired wasn’t as brisk as everyone thought she was all out to be. She was trying to forget about everything. She wanted to ease her mind. But “he” was more than life to her. More than the air that she breathed, more than what daddy’s money could ever buy. Every minute of the day had a feeling of grief as the pounding memories rushed back to her mind, making her regret every word she said, every action she made. She blamed everything on herself. But was it really her fault? With that question in mind, she stepped off of the crowded train with the bottom of her leather Marc by Marc Jacobs ballet flats touching the dirty ground of the station and quickly made her way to class.
What is the opposite of Productive?
Because that is what I am.
I also do not know how to use Blogspot quite yet, so please bare with me.
x
x
x
I also do not know how to use Blogspot quite yet, so please bare with me.
x
x
x
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
