Disclaimer: See previous chapters.
Title: "Sepia"
Tunes: The Smiths "How Soon is Now?"
People: Georgey-boy Washington and the rest of the founding fathers. Thanks for, like, the country and stuff.
Author's Note: Short. But I have a new deadline that I won't be divulging. So, anything I mentioned to anyone in a review reply shouldn't exactly be disregarded, but just know that this thing will probably end a good deal sooner than I might've anticipated. But then again, maybe I'll change things after this so... y'know what? Just stop paying attention to me. Seriously.
'Kay, so if you're curious, this piece used to be a lot longer and tied in to my original concept of plot for this thing, because suprise! It used to have one. I ditched that trainwreck about eight chapters back, though. You're a lot better off this way.
April 1, 2005
TO Liquor - 5:21 AM
Toronto, Ontario, Canada
She lived her life in sepia. Washed out shades of dull brown and translucent grays.
The scabs on her skin, the swell of her knuckles, the ragged whistle of her breath, slouch of shoulders, hollow eyes, quiet self-destruction.
Sepia.
Nothing spectacular.
It was how she lived.
In alleys, and Ravines, and shadows. Closets, shelters, jail-cells, detention-halls. Liquor-stores, parking lots, house parties, public schools.
It was how she would die.
The cigarette smoke burned her lungs. It seemed fitting; to be scorched from the inside, this way. She exhaled an unremarkable puff of grayish air. A sigh. A flutter of eyelashes. The impatient tap of a sneaker-clad foot on crumbling concrete.
Sepia was the color of old photographs and ancient books.
The sun was rising, now. She'd been out here for hours. Chill was starting to set in, making the small hairs on her arms and neck stand erect; goose pimples rising on her flesh. The skin on her face still felt hot, though, where he had hit her. All the peroxide and butterfly bandages in the world would never hide the scars, though. A month from now, when she had healed, she would still feel it burn.
Sepia was nothing to admire.
End Notes: Review, please.
-Orange