|
Entry #431031, added on 06-05-06 @ 4:53 am EDT.
[Entry Access Restriction] None.
Title:
Three.
She couldn't quite remember getting home.
She woke up on her sofa, lying her stomach, her feet resting on the arm, her head hanging off the edge, the floor spinning dangerously close to her eyes. She groaned, and tried to move but couldn't. One arm was pinned between her body and the back of the sofa, the other hanging next her head. She tired to push herself up but couldn't get the energy to even reach the floor. She was just going to have to stay like that for a bit longer, she decided. She couldn't see anything but the floor spinning underneath her and she was pretty sure that was all her so she closed her eyes and tried to ignore the little lights on her eyelids dancing.
Like last time she couldn't quite remember who she hadn't gotten here but she vaguely remembered a taxi, and spending about ten minutes trying to get into her flat, her co-ordination having flown out of the window after the third bicardi and coke.
She groaned again, the sound echoing through her brain and she made another attempt at moving. Why did she get herself into these states? Oh yeah, the letter, the move, the entire death of the Earth.
With a little more resolve she forced herself up into a sitting positing in one quick movement, regretting it the second her had hit the back of the sofa.
“Oh fuck.”
Suddenly she all the energy she needed and more as she got to her feet, her hand on hr mouth once again as she ran to her bathroom. She felt like she had gone back in time suddenly. Like Wednesday had never happened and she was experiencing it for the first time, standing over her toilet, throwing up.
She wished she had gone back in time.
She wished she could go back in time, not just her but the whole world, the whole Earth. Go back and change it all and it wouldn't matter than last might she torn up the letter into little pieces and thrown into her bin because there wouldn't be any bin, wouldn't be any flat wouldn't be any of this.
When she was done, or when she hoped she was done she stood and washed her mouth out, deciding this was worse than dry heaving, that at least before all that hurt was hurt body as she tried to force up something that didn’t exist. She looked at her self in the mirror again she looked worse then yesterday morning, much worse. Blonde hair sticking out at odd angels all over her head, she pale, her skin almost ashen, her eyes...she didn't recognise them. They weren't her own. The person in the mirror was not her.
Though, she didn't really feel like herself anymore, not over the past few months. The closer she got a move the stranger she felt, the stranger she became. She was becoming a stranger to herself.
She wasn't going to be sick and she didn't think she'd be telling herself that gain, so soon.
The letter was dealt with and she could live in denial for a little longer. She ignored her headache and the very familiar threat that she wasn't to throw up and got into the shower, trying to make her self feel a bit better, like yesterday. She wanted today to be a better today. She had wasted Wednesday completely. Falling to sleep at the school. getting wasted in the pub, she had accomplished nothing and she had so much to do, so much to paint. Time wasn't the issue but he people who were supporting her, paying her wanting work, wanted her soul most of the time, so she was determined to finish her Mount Everest painting even if she had to climb it to do so.
Okay, that was a little over the top, she admitted to herself.
Once she was clean, having scrubbed herself almost red raw once again she dried herself off and went through her lounge with the towel wrapped around her body, looking at the mess. It seems worse than yesterday but she'd hardly pent anytime her in the last 24 hours. Other then washing, dressing and passing out.
She eyes up the bin suspiciously, half expecting the letter to jump out and accuse her of something in a moment of paranoia. Treason or anti-establishment-ism. Everyone was supposed to be at the very least accepting f the move under water. There was nothing else that could be done. if you didn't go, you died.
She wasn't going to throw up.
She looked away and headed into her bedroom, deciding to make a little more effort today by putting on clothes that matched and not the horrible yellow striped t-shirt she had worn yesterday in a daze that she wises sure she had throw out months ago. She dressed, paint splattered jeans and blue t-shirt, taking the yellow monstrosity into the lounge and dropping it into her bin, hiding the pieces of her letter underneath it.
And then she forgot about it.
The television and the radio stayed off, all she listened to was music, no DJ’s, no news, nothing about moving, or the world. no newspapers, no conversation, she holed her self up in her flat again, painting and drawing. she only left to go to the school to help out her mother and even that got a little easier to do when it was the only reminder of the move, of a dying Earth and her own denial. She emptied the bin and the rubbish was collected and she didn't think about it again, going on with her life as normal.
She finished Mount Everest, though she wasn't happy with. Generic, run-of-the-mill, standard, boring. the words leapt into her mind but it was done and she knew if she worked on it anymore the canvas wouldn’t be strong enough to hold up all the paint. She had anted it to be exceptional, brilliant, different at least but it was none of those things. Not that the buyer seemed to notice. But then, people who bought art didn't always have the best opinions and part of her was screaming to say something, to say it was terrible, don't buy it, let me bin it, but she kept her mouth shut and took the money. She still had to pay the rent.
Other paintings became a little easier than they had done over the past few months, denial was wonderful thing fro her muse and she was working harder than she could remember but she was healthier than she could remember. Her mother mentioned that she happy Harmony was taking her vitamins at last and she didn't have the heart to tell her that she didn't even own any. That in fact the last time she'd been to the chemist was for some condoms almost a year ago.
A year.
She thought about that for a moment and realise she didn't really care much. Sex, men and relationships just messed around with her head and right now, she had all the problems she could handle. Or deny.
|
© Copyright 2006 scruffy duck (UN: alittletoolate at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
scruffy duck has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
[ <<-- Previous || Back To Entry List || Next -->> ] |
![goodbye [#1108838]
goodbye my sarah jane](http://imgsx.writing.com/main/images/action/display/item_id/1108838.png)
Log In To Leave Feedback
