I don't really know where this came from... and with my current affliction of fangirl-ism its a miracle I actually managed to write something un-related to the fandom. The fact it isn't related to any fandom is a miracle....
Pushing the earbuds into her ears, she smiled, the night was a hazy grey, the moon only a sliver of light. It was quiet, she liked quiet, better than screaming, better than anything she knew.
It was cold too, but she didn't mind the cold, she didn't mind having flushed cheeks or numb hands, she preferred it to inside her house, for with all the warmth a house could provide her it was still cold, but in a different way, empty and hollow, she'd rather be cold than comfortable with nothing.
The music huumed a sweet tune in her frost-bitten ears as the wind whipped her dark hair around her face and into her eyes, but she didn't mind. If she was lucky she might stumble blindly into the path of an on-coming car, because living on false statements, and having to con her body into battling through another day, just wasn't working anymore.
Shw was so close to death anyway, she could count the ribs through her skin now, like a xylophone, she wondered what kind of music that would make, a xylophone made from her bones, she imagined it would be sweet and lulling,
Unconsciously she tugged her sleeves over her butterfly embellished arms, she had inked those on a couple of weeks ago, but they couldn't hide the mismatch, patchwork state of her flesh, ugly and shameful scars littered them.
She kept walking, and humming as she went, wondering if she would ever properly live again.
Morbid much... the next non-fandom piece I write will be less.... this I promise
Pushing the earbuds into her ears, she smiled, the night was a hazy grey, the moon only a sliver of light. It was quiet, she liked quiet, better than screaming, better than anything she knew.
It was cold too, but she didn't mind the cold, she didn't mind having flushed cheeks or numb hands, she preferred it to inside her house, for with all the warmth a house could provide her it was still cold, but in a different way, empty and hollow, she'd rather be cold than comfortable with nothing.
The music huumed a sweet tune in her frost-bitten ears as the wind whipped her dark hair around her face and into her eyes, but she didn't mind. If she was lucky she might stumble blindly into the path of an on-coming car, because living on false statements, and having to con her body into battling through another day, just wasn't working anymore.
Shw was so close to death anyway, she could count the ribs through her skin now, like a xylophone, she wondered what kind of music that would make, a xylophone made from her bones, she imagined it would be sweet and lulling,
Unconsciously she tugged her sleeves over her butterfly embellished arms, she had inked those on a couple of weeks ago, but they couldn't hide the mismatch, patchwork state of her flesh, ugly and shameful scars littered them.
She kept walking, and humming as she went, wondering if she would ever properly live again.
Morbid much... the next non-fandom piece I write will be less.... this I promise
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