(no subject)
powerlines choking us in the atmosphere.
pg-13 \\ original characters.
I hope that ocs won't throw you off of reading this, these are characters that I write in my novel, and I just needed to work this little kink out with them.
very short, I apologize. in my mind, it doesn't go further.
"Wendy! Wendy!" Spencer raced into Wendy Riviera's room like the hounds of hell were on his heels, but his momentum sent him bouncing up onto her two-mattress-floor bed, onto his knees, and falling againt the glowing window, his palms pressed flat onto glass, cold and sticky with dew and mist and breath.
"Penny...Cer...I hate you," Wendy gargled, sniffing because when she laid down for the night, allergies attatcked her with the dust that never fully got cleaned from her floors.
"It's awful, it's atrocious, you won't believe it!" Spencer chirps, and it's so hard for Wendy to remember if she locked her door or not, because this was something that she had forcibly tried to prevent more than once.
"Heaven's in turmoil," he leans down to her, mouth right at her jaw that was becoming more and more prominent as she grew over the past months. Wendy's trying to remember who says "turmoil" except for the movie-commercial guy. "Heaven's all scrambled because something's missing. Do you know what's missing, Wendy?"
"Spencer..." she tries to roll over, but the thin and slightly gawky frame of the man (boy?) stops her from doing so.
"Wendy." It went unsaid that he was begging, ask me what.
"Okay," Wendy gave up softly. "What's missing?"
"Heaven's missing you to death." Then Wendy remembered that Spencer was perhaps the only other person who said "turmoil"...except for the movie-commercial guy.
pg-13 \\ original characters.
I hope that ocs won't throw you off of reading this, these are characters that I write in my novel, and I just needed to work this little kink out with them.
very short, I apologize. in my mind, it doesn't go further.
"Wendy! Wendy!" Spencer raced into Wendy Riviera's room like the hounds of hell were on his heels, but his momentum sent him bouncing up onto her two-mattress-floor bed, onto his knees, and falling againt the glowing window, his palms pressed flat onto glass, cold and sticky with dew and mist and breath.
"Penny...Cer...I hate you," Wendy gargled, sniffing because when she laid down for the night, allergies attatcked her with the dust that never fully got cleaned from her floors.
"It's awful, it's atrocious, you won't believe it!" Spencer chirps, and it's so hard for Wendy to remember if she locked her door or not, because this was something that she had forcibly tried to prevent more than once.
"Heaven's in turmoil," he leans down to her, mouth right at her jaw that was becoming more and more prominent as she grew over the past months. Wendy's trying to remember who says "turmoil" except for the movie-commercial guy. "Heaven's all scrambled because something's missing. Do you know what's missing, Wendy?"
"Spencer..." she tries to roll over, but the thin and slightly gawky frame of the man (boy?) stops her from doing so.
"Wendy." It went unsaid that he was begging, ask me what.
"Okay," Wendy gave up softly. "What's missing?"
"Heaven's missing you to death." Then Wendy remembered that Spencer was perhaps the only other person who said "turmoil"...except for the movie-commercial guy.