[JP] 09.08 - Counting Days.
I'm left to counting the days
While my life drifts away
It's been thirty days and she knows that a man has died. Lied, and did what he could... and he's being buried just down the way from her. Her feet press into the sand, the paint that used to be on her toes faded and chipped away except for small spots of coral color that make her think of how much she hates that it's still there. Reaching forward her thumb rubs against the surface, feeling the smoothness that comes with the glossy shine. For a moment she's not even realizing that she's picking at the edge of what is left of the coat. It's a repetitive motion, that she barely notices until she glances down to see the scrape of newly exposed bare nail. Running her thumbnail across her fingertip she tries to pull that fleck of paint out easily but in the end her free hand has to pick it out with the nails of her other hand.
It's been thirty days and seated on the beach she's stopped caring that her nails aren't perfect, and that her shorts are going to have a ruddy tinge of sand to them when she gets up. She's been eating fruit as if it was some sort of new fad diet that all of her friends are doing. Her step-brother had been keeping watch, keeping everyone safe. It's what he's always tried to do, it's just funny that here he's actually doing a good job of it. That he's managed to actually be of use... it's not exactly shocking to her but she's at least recognizing that maybe she should tell him that he's doing a good job. Fingers brush her hair out of her eyes and she doesn't even think to check the state of her fingernails, knowing the paint wore off finally a few days ago.
It's been thirty days and maybe... just maybe she'll stop counting them sometime soon.
While my life drifts away
It's been thirty days and she knows that a man has died. Lied, and did what he could... and he's being buried just down the way from her. Her feet press into the sand, the paint that used to be on her toes faded and chipped away except for small spots of coral color that make her think of how much she hates that it's still there. Reaching forward her thumb rubs against the surface, feeling the smoothness that comes with the glossy shine. For a moment she's not even realizing that she's picking at the edge of what is left of the coat. It's a repetitive motion, that she barely notices until she glances down to see the scrape of newly exposed bare nail. Running her thumbnail across her fingertip she tries to pull that fleck of paint out easily but in the end her free hand has to pick it out with the nails of her other hand.
It's been thirty days and seated on the beach she's stopped caring that her nails aren't perfect, and that her shorts are going to have a ruddy tinge of sand to them when she gets up. She's been eating fruit as if it was some sort of new fad diet that all of her friends are doing. Her step-brother had been keeping watch, keeping everyone safe. It's what he's always tried to do, it's just funny that here he's actually doing a good job of it. That he's managed to actually be of use... it's not exactly shocking to her but she's at least recognizing that maybe she should tell him that he's doing a good job. Fingers brush her hair out of her eyes and she doesn't even think to check the state of her fingernails, knowing the paint wore off finally a few days ago.
It's been thirty days and maybe... just maybe she'll stop counting them sometime soon.