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the actual truth of the matter was, she had no idea what he was talking about. but of course, she couldn't say that, so she played along like the best of them, while, silently, panicking on the inside. she could only stay hidden for so long.
A formation of clay and water--not concrete until the little hands of others grasp it as firmly as you do. a conception, a beginning.
"No," she thrust her chin out, willfully. "I'm not going to marry some stupid prince with yellow teeth and bad breath." With a toss of her bubblegum pink locks, she turned on her heel and left the room.
The true centerpiece of her ensemble, however, was her hat. Plumed with fine, soft feathers that rose high above her neat chignon, its lavender netting and silk was of the latest styles in Paris. And though her face was breathtakingly, heartrendingly beautiful, it was her hat that brought all eyes to her. And she met those eyes with her own fine, dark eyes, rivals only to Elizabeth Bennet's.
She was his, and he was hers, and they settled in the tired routine called life, comfortable with their place in the world. And as the years flew from under their feet, and youth was buried under soft, wrinkly skin, like a waistband that's lost its elastic, they were there for each other, for what they had was not passion, strong, like a river's current, but fondness, like a meandering stream, calmer, full of life, a fondness that humans denote as love. And their life together was fulfilling; their story long and happy, they had each other, and love.
The sky was breaking, disintegrating, as the lighting hit the ground with the thud of a giant's footsteps. It cracked into pieces, like old paint, curling up and falling, raining down onto the ground, the manicured lawns of Suburbia littered with grey shards of cloud and air.
The cast of the play bowed once, twice, and three times, smiling widely as the deep red curtain descended in front of them. Dropping their fake, Vaseline-teethed grins, they then hurried to their individual dressing rooms, not stopping to speak to each other. In fact, behind the scenes, they were all very curt towards each other, envious and competitive despite the friendship and affection they displayed onstage. Welcome to show business, kids.
Mint, and freshly cut grass, that's what she remembered from that night. Breathing in and smelling the dark night air and the lawn, the warmth radiating off his body and being absorbed by her own. He lingered closer and closer, she looked down awkwardly and fumbled with her hands, nervous; it didn't take a physic to know what would happen next. But she was still surprised when he lifted her chin and kissed her, a trace of that Olive Garden mint left on his lips; it would be that mint she'd taste every time they kissed after that night, that cool, summer night.
Curious, she peeked through the keyhole, curtained by shadow and secrecy, the two things she dared to look straight in the face. Curious, she loved, kissed behind the elm trees of the forest, strands of dewdrop-pearls on a spiderweb. and Curious, she laughed, curious, she wrote, curious, she listened, and curious, she lived.
Vodka, that was the smell. The room reeked of it, and bottles of the stuff lay everywhere; I stepped over one gingerly as I made my way further into the room. And it was then when I realized that the stench of alcohol covered a deeper, darker, smell: the smell of the dead body rotting on the stained, vodka-bottle-littered couch.
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