FIC: Glee - Three Wishes
TITLE: Three Wishes
AUTHOR: theviciouslily
'VERSE: Glee
PAIRING: Brief mention of Brittana.
TABLE: Angst
PROMPT: 06. - I Wish
SUMMARY: Santana starts her day with three wishes.
RATING: PG-13
WORD COUNT: 358
SPOILERS: N/A
DISCLAIMER: Glee is the proprety of Ryan Murphy and not me...yet.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: As this is my first fic in a long time, please give me as much constructive criticism as you can so that I can improve my writing for your future enjoyment.
Every summer morning, your eyes snap open at 5:37am. The watery Ohio sunrise leaks through the curtains and contaminates the perfect field of darkness that your room has become over the last few years. On these mornings you usually do one of two things: occasionally, you set to eradicating your high score on Angry Birds until the smell of pop-tarts and the thought of washing them down with OJ rather than cleanser becomes too overpowering to resist. But, more often than not, you pace through what little floorspace there is in your room, willing today to be different from every other day that's gone before. You could lose hours pounding your way back and forth between your desk and your closet until your feet bled, wishing your life away.
You wish that one day you could wake up to the sound of that obnoxius dickweed on the radio gushing about his boyfriend proposing to him on the air the previous morning, telling the censors to brace themselves before he reads out the tips for the wedding night that the listeners left on the show's Twitter feed.
You wish that you could walk down through the hallways, dressed like La Roux, with hair like Max Headroom, and no one in a ten-foot radius even attempting to breathe in your general direction. They only pause to take a mental note to vote for you in the Prom Queen and Queen race, lest you end their sorry asses.
You wish that, as the smell of mould from the rafters in Our Lady of Lupus begins to seep into your dress, the parental units remember to mute their Blackberries before they give you away...and maybe even crowbar in a few words about what a lucky girl Brittany is and how proud of you they always were.
But wishes don't come true.
So today, you lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, telling yourself that the feeling that has replaced your usual irritation at realising you have to get through another day in that shithole isn't dread and most definitely not fear.
AUTHOR: theviciouslily
'VERSE: Glee
PAIRING: Brief mention of Brittana.
TABLE: Angst
PROMPT: 06. - I Wish
SUMMARY: Santana starts her day with three wishes.
RATING: PG-13
WORD COUNT: 358
SPOILERS: N/A
DISCLAIMER: Glee is the proprety of Ryan Murphy and not me...yet.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: As this is my first fic in a long time, please give me as much constructive criticism as you can so that I can improve my writing for your future enjoyment.
Every summer morning, your eyes snap open at 5:37am. The watery Ohio sunrise leaks through the curtains and contaminates the perfect field of darkness that your room has become over the last few years. On these mornings you usually do one of two things: occasionally, you set to eradicating your high score on Angry Birds until the smell of pop-tarts and the thought of washing them down with OJ rather than cleanser becomes too overpowering to resist. But, more often than not, you pace through what little floorspace there is in your room, willing today to be different from every other day that's gone before. You could lose hours pounding your way back and forth between your desk and your closet until your feet bled, wishing your life away.
You wish that one day you could wake up to the sound of that obnoxius dickweed on the radio gushing about his boyfriend proposing to him on the air the previous morning, telling the censors to brace themselves before he reads out the tips for the wedding night that the listeners left on the show's Twitter feed.
You wish that you could walk down through the hallways, dressed like La Roux, with hair like Max Headroom, and no one in a ten-foot radius even attempting to breathe in your general direction. They only pause to take a mental note to vote for you in the Prom Queen and Queen race, lest you end their sorry asses.
You wish that, as the smell of mould from the rafters in Our Lady of Lupus begins to seep into your dress, the parental units remember to mute their Blackberries before they give you away...and maybe even crowbar in a few words about what a lucky girl Brittany is and how proud of you they always were.
But wishes don't come true.
So today, you lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, telling yourself that the feeling that has replaced your usual irritation at realising you have to get through another day in that shithole isn't dread and most definitely not fear.