meredithann
persons.... sounds vaguely religious... parsons, a vegetable, parsnips, an operation to make men sterile. I've got nothing.
She kept switching back and forth between the top of the building or something dramatic like a razor blade in the bathtub. Inevitably she knew that things would work out like they always do. Bland and unattractive. Flabby and sad.
sounds so trite and trivial.... nothing interesting ever fell out of a chat box. Pandora's chatbox.
sing king sinking falling never enough always apart covered over and buried feeling feeling feeling cold and done.
he wound the thread around his finger, watching the tip turn red, then purple, then black. Sometimes he was sure that his head was doing this very same thing, at night, when everyone else was asleep and he felt the slip.
she was far too old for this. he gazed at her like a labrador in heat. fucking fossil that was, slope lidded, long toothed, wattle necked, flabby armed bitch, and yet, he adored her.
She watched the couples walking in the mall. Their matching wind suits making swishing noises and conflicting with the brain trauma from last night's Stoli and sodas.
she is so brave, knocking men down, left right and centre. Not so brave at 1 am, after half a bottle of wine and the pall bearers are all too sore or enraged or crushed to play.
In the back yard the laundry fluttered, yellow, ragged, strung on a wire that ran between the trailer and the truck that dad brought home one night, won in a bet and having never touched it's wheels to pavement since. Daddy preferred the kind of cars that collected critters in the wheel wells and sprouted grass in the fenders.
It isn't very surprising that he would remark on her outfit. What was remarkable was that he would say something nice. She took it as a sign that she looked ridiculous and promptly ran inside to change. She'd deal with his wrath afterwards. No amount of torment would make her feel silly in front of the world.
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