I really wonder how you feel on these nights so alone

“if only you could see”

It's been one week...

Dec 31, 2008 || 2:31 AM || comment?

I've only finished one...and now I'm sitting around some more oh god I am such a fat lazy ass. XD

I wish I had a nice story to write...I keep popping my fingers and my bottom is numb from sitting..

What's up, sweet cakes?

Good morning bright and beautiful sun! It streams through the window, the blinds aren't really doing their job of blocking out the rays. In the bed you're laying, it doesn't matter that you're not facing the window, the room is lit up and you're stirring out of sleep. Cracking one eye open, you realize you've slept too late. Half the day has wasted away, but you don't care. You inhale deeply, and shut your eyes. Sleep won't return to you, so you sigh, and throw the covers off. The bed is now your enemy; sleep has betrayed you. There is an empty feeling in your stuck, but right now your bladder is screaming. You get up lazily and stroll to the bathroom, not even closing the door all the way. You're too tired right now to care about anyone possibly walking in. Rubbing your hands under some water is good enough to you, and you pat your hands against the shirt you're wearing. One glance in the mirror and you notice that your hair is defying the basic laws of gravity. A couple run-throughs of the hand fixes that, for the most part. You can't see the back, so it doesn't exist. You yawn at yourself and wrinkle your nose. In a cup to the left are some toothbrushes, you pick the blue one and run it under the water. Add toothpaste, apply to teeth. Spit, rinse, smile. You're beautiful.

The ARTIST - ..and so is she. Walking into a small room, or a large side closet, are a few scattered things. Paints, pastels, pencils, charcoal. A canvas is set off to the side, but it is mostly finished. Not another one of your unfinished projects. You've been good about getting work done lately. Is she your inspiration? Perhaps. She is wearing a smile, but she is not looking at you. Her eyes are closed. But who knows what she's thinking about.

The WRITER - You wander into the living area, there are a couple other people in there. Two are on the couch, one is in the kitchen. They say hey, and you simply nod. You sit on the awkward chair, but you don't mind it too much. It's a guy and a girl on the couch, you're all friends, and she makes eye contact with you. She offers a simple smile, and in return you do the same. In your mind's eye you see words spilling from her ears, all the words you wish she would say, hidden beneath one of your fictional characters, but the story is well known.

The GAMER - You walk back into your room, because it is your safe haven. There are so many different ways to connect with the world, this is the easiest one. You sign into the game, and you are greeted with several hellos. These people are loyal to you, in some strange and quiet understanding. You sit up a little straighter when you hear her voice saying hello, but you are sure all the guys do, too. But they only wish she was talking to them.

The DREAMER - You stare at your reflection a little bit longer...you're not conceited, but you fall into a lull. The silvery background of the mirror draws you in, and you let yourself be consumed. Your new surroundings seem familiar, but you find that you don't recognize it from anything you really know. Then you realize you're in a forest, and there is an empty feeling in your stomach. You decide to trek forward...there's got to be something to eat. That's when an oddly shaped tree suddenly blocks your way. You can't remember if that tree was always there or just appeared, but you don't care because there is one nice, shiny apple dangling from one of its limbs. It's not high at all, and no one is around. In your head you know that it is the best tasting apple you will ever find, and so you reach for it. Suddenly your arm isn't long enough, or maybe the branch was higher than you thought. You stand on the tips of your toes, feeling the bottom of the apple with the tips of your fingers. Your struggle causes you to lose balance, and you fall forward. This is when the bottom of your shirt is soaked, along with your feet. Looking down, you notice the sink has filled with water. You sigh, and shut off the faucet.

Labels: fiction junction