Prompt: Breaking a Fast, Titled: Fighting the Urge to Touch
Their siren sung swirled around the hunger in my heart. Within and without, I was compelled to touch them. Just one touch, one look, one wistful glance.
Resolute, I turned away. I could not caress those darlings right now.
But there were new ones, bright, shiny, untouched, begging for my hands, my eyes. In my mind, I imagined us in bed, as I drank in their splendor. Where would they take me, what untold ecstasy was I missing by turning away?
My resolve weakened. Just one touch right? A slow caress down that face, oh please, that one was begging me ...
But I turned away and marched to the desk where a stern-faced woman waited. "Which way to your reference materials?" I asked boldly, perhaps a little too loudly. I had to quiet those whispers in my soul.
And I followed her pointing finger, resolutely turning away from the bright and new who promised worlds unknown and pleasures I hadn't yet dreamed off. Quickly I walked off to do research, trying to shove out of my mind the strong hunger for fiction, for worlds not yet explored that would quickly welcome me in.
In two weeks, I would upload my last paper, take my last exam and break this fast from fiction and all the happy hours and untold lives I was so addicted to. But for now, I must turn from fiction which always drew me more than food or warmth or water.
This fiction addict needed A's, needed them bad enough to flee from what kept me sane, the worlds between the cardboard covers, the lives in which I could lose mine. As I quoted and cited and footnoted, my mind kept a running tally of which book would come first, upon which pristine pages would I break my fast and ride into pleasure once again. The choice wouldn't be an easy one. But soon, I would touch a virgin book and make him mine.
Resolute, I turned away. I could not caress those darlings right now.
But there were new ones, bright, shiny, untouched, begging for my hands, my eyes. In my mind, I imagined us in bed, as I drank in their splendor. Where would they take me, what untold ecstasy was I missing by turning away?
My resolve weakened. Just one touch right? A slow caress down that face, oh please, that one was begging me ...
But I turned away and marched to the desk where a stern-faced woman waited. "Which way to your reference materials?" I asked boldly, perhaps a little too loudly. I had to quiet those whispers in my soul.
And I followed her pointing finger, resolutely turning away from the bright and new who promised worlds unknown and pleasures I hadn't yet dreamed off. Quickly I walked off to do research, trying to shove out of my mind the strong hunger for fiction, for worlds not yet explored that would quickly welcome me in.
In two weeks, I would upload my last paper, take my last exam and break this fast from fiction and all the happy hours and untold lives I was so addicted to. But for now, I must turn from fiction which always drew me more than food or warmth or water.
This fiction addict needed A's, needed them bad enough to flee from what kept me sane, the worlds between the cardboard covers, the lives in which I could lose mine. As I quoted and cited and footnoted, my mind kept a running tally of which book would come first, upon which pristine pages would I break my fast and ride into pleasure once again. The choice wouldn't be an easy one. But soon, I would touch a virgin book and make him mine.