So no one will find you
Title: So no one will find you
Prompt: Lithosphere
Word Count: 413
A/N: Yes! I completed my first month-long challenge from brigits_flame
She opened her eyes. It was morning. The room was misty despite the humble sunlight that spilled through her bed. She was lost in the cotton folds of her pillows, the gentle air of Saturday, and the sweet lullaby of her blanket. But it was morning; it was time to wake up. Though she’d sighed away the pain from last night, whispers of the wounds kissed at the contours of her memory. It lingered like a prolonged note at the end of a melody, too insubstantial to grasp.
The familiar scent of smoke on her hair and alcohol in her breath teased her senses. She wasn’t very exposed to such bedeviled celebrations where one intakes an absurd amount of sinful liquid. But in the seldom events that she was, no one could chain her to her chair. She laughed and danced and jumped and sang. She was the very picture of one who lived in the moment, damning propriety and consequence. Her soul craved freedom, release from the unbearable bounds of rationality and the often annoying and inexorable tantrums of emotion. She wanted to escape, only for one night, the things that made her human, made her real.
Lying still on her bed of feathers, she remembered the brash beating of the bass and the mad monologue of the lights. She remembered flying with the music, reaching for the artificial stars of the bar and swimming in the liquid colors of cherry and aqua. If she held out any longer, she’d finally disappear, finally escape.
But then the pain came.
Arrows of sharp-pointed steel pricked at her fingertips by the unforgiving assault of a kiss. The kiss that was sure to sink her viciously down from heaven and tenderly shackled back to the humble earth. Such an intimate touch was poison to her wings not only because it dragged her away from the elusive freedom she yearned, but also because it came from the man she loved. And she knew, of course, that the kiss was worth the fall.
If only he wasn’t as drunk as she was, he wouldn’t have pronounced his regret immediately after.
Something suddenly throbbed at the corners of her eyes, threatening to escape. She pulled the blanket over her head once again and convinced herself not to feel. She was getting good at pretending, anyway. Pretending not to be real, that is. So good, in fact, that maybe one day she’d be able to deceive even herself.
Prompt: Lithosphere
Word Count: 413
A/N: Yes! I completed my first month-long challenge from brigits_flame
She opened her eyes. It was morning. The room was misty despite the humble sunlight that spilled through her bed. She was lost in the cotton folds of her pillows, the gentle air of Saturday, and the sweet lullaby of her blanket. But it was morning; it was time to wake up. Though she’d sighed away the pain from last night, whispers of the wounds kissed at the contours of her memory. It lingered like a prolonged note at the end of a melody, too insubstantial to grasp.
The familiar scent of smoke on her hair and alcohol in her breath teased her senses. She wasn’t very exposed to such bedeviled celebrations where one intakes an absurd amount of sinful liquid. But in the seldom events that she was, no one could chain her to her chair. She laughed and danced and jumped and sang. She was the very picture of one who lived in the moment, damning propriety and consequence. Her soul craved freedom, release from the unbearable bounds of rationality and the often annoying and inexorable tantrums of emotion. She wanted to escape, only for one night, the things that made her human, made her real.
Lying still on her bed of feathers, she remembered the brash beating of the bass and the mad monologue of the lights. She remembered flying with the music, reaching for the artificial stars of the bar and swimming in the liquid colors of cherry and aqua. If she held out any longer, she’d finally disappear, finally escape.
But then the pain came.
Arrows of sharp-pointed steel pricked at her fingertips by the unforgiving assault of a kiss. The kiss that was sure to sink her viciously down from heaven and tenderly shackled back to the humble earth. Such an intimate touch was poison to her wings not only because it dragged her away from the elusive freedom she yearned, but also because it came from the man she loved. And she knew, of course, that the kiss was worth the fall.
If only he wasn’t as drunk as she was, he wouldn’t have pronounced his regret immediately after.
Something suddenly throbbed at the corners of her eyes, threatening to escape. She pulled the blanket over her head once again and convinced herself not to feel. She was getting good at pretending, anyway. Pretending not to be real, that is. So good, in fact, that maybe one day she’d be able to deceive even herself.