A/N: I'm procrastinating. I've got a story that needs a new chapter, a story that needs a first chapter, and (most importantly) a screenplay that needs to be finished in 19 days. Oh, the life of a wannabe writer.
The gas station bathroom is cramped and smells like sewage. The walls are covered in...well, she doesn't know and she doesn't care to guess. She can practically see the germs on the grimy porcelain toilet, so she opts to stand. Isobel has never had great aim, but it's her only option.
When she is done, she places the dripping stick on the edge of the sink. She sets her watch.
:59
Blue is good, according to the pamphlet. God, let it be blue.
:30
Blue. Be blue. Please, be blue.
:10
She bites her lip.
Beep.
Oh, fuck. Not blue.
A/N: Review or I might die.