Reject
untitled
Quick note: I post this for firefly_catcher. I think she likes it more than I. :P
----
It wasn't that she didn't like her hair. She did, to some extent. She loved the way it seemed to find its own way to cling to the side of her face, or how the ends seem to turn up and somehow find their way to her mouth. It provided her entertainment, much more than the blaring box in the next room that religiously held everyone’s attention. She had never cared for the television, it almost revolted her.
So she sat in her room, listening to the leaky tap in her bathroom that would never get fixed. She played with her hair, she rummaged through her twenty-year-old clothes that were her mother's before they were hers. She wasn't overly thrilled about her clothes, they fitted her oddly and she wondered if that green was meant to be that shade. Not that it was the colour that she minded, she spent most of her time covering it with the Artist look; splattered paint and no work to show for it. It was normal though, even her face seemed to be hidden behind a blur of colour that did nothing but give her the look of someone who was constantly trying too hard. She didn't though, she just enjoyed lying to the world. Not that she was accepted either way, she was not well known for her hospitality nor was she known for the few shreds of decency she managed to cling onto.
Her parents had always expressed their worries about her and her little brother had always taunted her with songs that managed to rhyme her name with words that reminded her just how crazy she was. Her older sister would always smack him across the head, but then lean in and whisper, "Don't provoke her."
It wasn't as if she didn't enjoy it.
- <<
- <
- >
- >>
