Author's Notes: Okay, so it's my first shot at a story. I know this is remarkably short; it was meant to be. It is just a vignette, after all. I really want to make a full-length Arizona Dream story, but this is all that came out so far. Anyway, we'll see what happens. Sorry if everything seems a bit...well, the story is kind of like a train of thought/stream of conciousness sort of thing, so everything may not make much sense. Reviews are appreciated; let me know if you want me to make a full-length story about Grace, it would mean a lot!
Rating: Um, yes, it's M because there's thoughts about suicide and such. Yes.
No matter how hard she scrubbed and cleaned, she could smell that stink everywhere in the house. Sometimes she could find it in her own clothing, lurking within the folds of her dress or the crevices of her underwear. It was painted on the walls, hanging in the curtains, hiding in the cupboards and snaking into the cracks in the floor. The smell of carnal lust, the smell of her mother and him, humping like animals until the crack of dawn. She could even smell it on him when he came downstairs for breakfast, caked in his disheveled hair, dark and solid in his pants.
Bile rose in her throat as she ripped the sheets from the clothes line, knowing that this was where the magic happened, not really magic at all. On these sheets she could trace their story, read the trail they left behind them, dogs in heat.
Clinking, clattering, he played in the workshop all day, tinkering with his airplane, the airplane he was building for her.
Grace narrowed her eyes, angrily balling the bleached sheet in her hands, swearing to herself that she would never let her stepmother fly. Flying away would mean freedom; it would mean leaving her behind to squirm in her decay.
She was rotten, after all, a pretty girl with a worm-gnawed brain, contemplating suicide as she played her accordion and raised her turtles. What would be the best way to do it, hmm? She found herself giggling sometimes, when she played johnny johnny johnny whoops! and accidentally stabbed a fingertip with the knife. It could be so easy…
…but sometimes she thought no.
Sometimes she thought she loved him.
The End.
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