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witticasterMistakes in the way of syntax and typos and etc can be blamed on the fact that I am not wearing my glasses right now. Mistakes in the way of logic, voice, canon, and et cetera can be blamed on the fact that I was getting to sleep and was viciously attacked by this idea and am now typing it directly into this post in hopes of getting it down now and getting it down good later. I don't know when it's set, but since probably no one reading this knows the source material and also, it's late, who cares?
I lay on my back on the lumpy couch, staring up. The wall on my right had one naked window, and from where I was, all I could see was sky. Sometimes I thought about making curtains for it, but it didn't seem right when it wasn't my window.
It was only my window on nights like these, when I had nowhere else to go.
The storm hadn't come so close that it was raining, but it was close enough that I could see the lightning. It was a flicker of white that lit the rest of the sky purple. Sometimes it was still so far away that I couldn't hear the thunder echoing behind it, but the lightning kept coming, only a few seconds in between the flashes.
I watched it, and I remembered the poem I had to memorize for English years ago. I never learned more than the lines I had to, but I remembered parts of what came next. Thunder. And the storm. A demon in my view. From childhood's hour, I have not been as others were.
A bolt of lightning hit, so bright that when I closed my eyes, all I saw was white. The thunder rumbled from miles away.
Just as I began to fall asleep, I heard the first haphazard beats of rain against glass. I dreamed of deserts and Theresa and the thunder cracked even in my dreams.
I have been ravenous for thinks lately, but the problem with that is that you have to write something (and it would help if it didn't suck) before you can get feedback on it. SIGH self is lazy and also is writing a shitty Jess tonight. The problem with first-person books is that it's really obvious when you're Doing It Wrong. DX Maybe in the morning I will fix it up some.
I lay on my back on the lumpy couch, staring up. The wall on my right had one naked window, and from where I was, all I could see was sky. Sometimes I thought about making curtains for it, but it didn't seem right when it wasn't my window.
It was only my window on nights like these, when I had nowhere else to go.
The storm hadn't come so close that it was raining, but it was close enough that I could see the lightning. It was a flicker of white that lit the rest of the sky purple. Sometimes it was still so far away that I couldn't hear the thunder echoing behind it, but the lightning kept coming, only a few seconds in between the flashes.
I watched it, and I remembered the poem I had to memorize for English years ago. I never learned more than the lines I had to, but I remembered parts of what came next. Thunder. And the storm. A demon in my view. From childhood's hour, I have not been as others were.
A bolt of lightning hit, so bright that when I closed my eyes, all I saw was white. The thunder rumbled from miles away.
Just as I began to fall asleep, I heard the first haphazard beats of rain against glass. I dreamed of deserts and Theresa and the thunder cracked even in my dreams.
I have been ravenous for thinks lately, but the problem with that is that you have to write something (and it would help if it didn't suck) before you can get feedback on it. SIGH self is lazy and also is writing a shitty Jess tonight. The problem with first-person books is that it's really obvious when you're Doing It Wrong. DX Maybe in the morning I will fix it up some.
