(no subject)
She's known him for a long time. Not directly, but she's always known him: a black hat and a white t-shirt lurking at the edges of her vision as she stood, poised on the seam of where the edge of the tank met the gray ocean water. Marlene would roll up onto the balls of her feet, sucking her stomach in, and think about falling face first into the cold water, plunging downward until she couldn't see the sky any more.
Often it scared her, the way she would imagine drowning.
It wasn't that she was depressed, it's that she was bored. Seventeen, and she'd grown tired of toys and baubles and playthings and wanted something more to do. Parties and cake had lost their appeal, and so now, seventeen and bored, Marlene balances precariously on the edge of the tank and imagines drowning.
Often it scared her, the way she would imagine drowning.
It wasn't that she was depressed, it's that she was bored. Seventeen, and she'd grown tired of toys and baubles and playthings and wanted something more to do. Parties and cake had lost their appeal, and so now, seventeen and bored, Marlene balances precariously on the edge of the tank and imagines drowning.