Much to say and little in which to say it.
Firstly, I have been promoted! I am now an assitant manager of Pier 1 Imports! Huzzah! You may leave your gifts and cash tributes here.
Secondly, I found this while I was in my room. I was doing some writing when I was in Chicago my junior year; most of it was angst-ridden crap that I wrote because I was having a rough time, but I thought this wasn't half bad. I'll hide it, so you don't have to read it if you don't want to.
A cloudy dusk. The light makes everyone look tired, and old. YOu can see the weight of the world on their shoulders, bearing down on them. If I was out in that cloudy dusk, you would see the same on my face. My train begins ist underground descent; the strip of gray sky out my window grows narrower and narrower, until it is gone completely. Artificial night replaces my cloudy dusk. It's the kind of dark where you think you see shapes and movement in the thick cement walls. The kind of dark that convinces you that your brief glimpse of the tunnel is a glimpse of ... something, something coming for you. The stops at each crumbling station are a short reprise. I get off my train, and look down the tunnel, into that empty, artificial blackness. It's all too easy to see that something come barreling around the corner, down the track. That's the real reason everyone hurries up the staires to the street above.
Secondly, I found this while I was in my room. I was doing some writing when I was in Chicago my junior year; most of it was angst-ridden crap that I wrote because I was having a rough time, but I thought this wasn't half bad. I'll hide it, so you don't have to read it if you don't want to.
A cloudy dusk. The light makes everyone look tired, and old. YOu can see the weight of the world on their shoulders, bearing down on them. If I was out in that cloudy dusk, you would see the same on my face. My train begins ist underground descent; the strip of gray sky out my window grows narrower and narrower, until it is gone completely. Artificial night replaces my cloudy dusk. It's the kind of dark where you think you see shapes and movement in the thick cement walls. The kind of dark that convinces you that your brief glimpse of the tunnel is a glimpse of ... something, something coming for you. The stops at each crumbling station are a short reprise. I get off my train, and look down the tunnel, into that empty, artificial blackness. It's all too easy to see that something come barreling around the corner, down the track. That's the real reason everyone hurries up the staires to the street above.