Um. Idk. (591 hits)
Category: NoneRating: -0.93 on 19 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by ninja fuck (View user info) at 2008-06-16 12:37:56 EDT
Fixed make-up resides somewhere between the falsity of a clown and the beauty of a goddess. Bright green eyes with mile-long lashes bat the heavens whenever she looks up. Her smile stops hearts of men, women, and children alike. Delicate but strong features, you want to stare as long as you can to burn the memory of this angel in your brain.
Black hair streams like whips through the dysthymic city bringing neither hope nor disillusion. She gets lost in the sea of people that is New York City. No one knows who she is or where she came from on the street. She could've just murdered or could have a dick under her loosely fitting black chinos. At the hospital she is viral, friendly, and charming. The nurses and other doctors are left in want of her.
She is the goddess. Too gorgeous too brilliant; albeit her life is wasted; a once-bright life now settled into the dissonant mediocrity we all desperately hope to achieve.
If you stare at her for more than a second, she knows you're caught in her disaster; she hates you for it.
You're unabashed staring at her repugnance is some dead joke she doesn't understand.
This particular day is like every other. She wakes up in her clean, sparse condo. Shades of metal and white; much like the hospital, stare back at her. The windowed wall letting in first day's light through filtered slits where the dust can dance. Sterile and clean is the sunlight; bringing life to another day. The only clutter she has are some crumbs left on the counter from the night before. Colby jack with some saltines. She was a pack rat for years; until she left college. Then she stripped away all she knew in her life.
A new beginning.
She's single and has no pets. She doesn't get attached to anything or anyone, having become wiser and more efficient for living. Now she has time for all the things married people can't do. They are burdened and bogged down. She is free. Free like a neutrino.
She hears people, about their lives, their relationships. All the atrocities that are the news; all the tv shows that illustrate human relations. They seem trivial and wasted, self-deprecating, futile. After school she packed up and moved to New Jersey, eventually ending up in NYC after applying to a seemingly endless amount of hospitals. All she wanted was to be alone. Wanting to help people seems counter productive, but she's managed so far. And that's all she's ever wanted to do. She's 32 and settled in her career; drawing lines through the desert of life creating memories easily forgotten, easily dusted into oblivion.
Her walk-in closet is reminiscent of a forest, with the oak screaming a silent welcome as she picks through copious amounts of clothes. The overhead lighting drives away all doubt that she is .... Successful. The track lighting and lit drawers drive away all doubt.
Picking up the small non-descript handgun she bought for herself years ago her face is calm, never breaking. Never crying. Her green-goddess orbs bright and resilient, hope, strength, and wisdom is what everyone sees. Unrelentless gripping beauty. A succubus with no prey. But you don't know her, no one does. She's worked hard to make it this way.
She is vile. Her eyes are moss and algae, deserved for only the beasts and bugs, only they understand, only they don't judge. Her eyelashes, so thick and long are spiders crawling out of her flesh. Only a down-syndromed hamster could ever love her.
It's loaded, has been since she brought it home from the gun show. The only thing she thinks is, "finally. Finally I will live where I can thrive."
Silence rings out while smoke plumes across the oak closet. The countless drawers and down-soft carpet don't speak. They don't care. The stainless steel refrigerator still hums and the coffee maker will drip coffee in a few minutes. After a second you can hear the city life below, the hustle and bustle of the other cockroaches striving for mediocrity. They never stop. And you will forget the woman with the startling green eyes and black tentacle hair.
She thanks you.
User Reviews
Submitted by Ltap (user info) at 2008-06-18 11:52:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
No Comment
Submitted by Ejryuu (user info) at 2008-06-17 13:47:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
I got as far as the title before passing judgment as fast as Fat Tony passes the salad bar.
Submitted by sexualchocolate1984 (user info) at 2008-06-17 06:56:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Cunts use words like dysthymic.
Off you fuck. Go on....
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2008-06-17 05:45:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Is this post autobiographical?
Submitted by Littlebint (user info) at 2008-06-17 04:22:09 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
There really is nothing more to say about this post.
Submitted by X54 (user info) at 2008-06-16 23:36:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
So, where did she go to live? And who did she shoot?
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2008-06-16 19:02:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
There's a bunch of new Uberers lately...and all of them fucking stink.
Including, but not exclusive to, this one.
Submitted by DonkeyOnTheEdge (user info) at 2008-06-16 18:35:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Words, words, adjectives galor, words words I like writing redundant shit, words words.
Submitted by Mr_Trollope (user info) at 2008-06-16 17:20:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
You are boring
Submitted by KirillovianShitStain (user info) at 2008-06-16 17:12:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Only a down-syndromed hamster could ever love her
Seems out of place, and don't underestimate the love a down-syndromed hamster can give you. I seek their affection often, actually.
Submitted by tatersninja (user info) at 2008-06-16 14:03:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
exactamundo
Submitted by Ballare (user info) at 2008-06-16 13:50:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
blah bloo bleh
Submitted by tatersninja (user info) at 2008-06-16 13:37:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
i usually don't write in whole sentences, but then i found out who kerouc was and kinda stopped. this shit doesn't work out so well for me. that's just not how my brain rolls.
It's hard to re-hash together fragments and seemingly incomplete thoughts when they are complete, but then trying to make them coherent. Making them incoherent. If that makes sense. Which it doesn't sound like but that's how it is.
Submitted by skrapmetal (user info) at 2008-06-16 13:30:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I suspect you just got lucky before, but as Brdn_Nkd said - at least your're trying.
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2008-06-16 13:26:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
eh, fuck it. there's tons worse than this on this site. at least this is an attempt at writing.
Submitted by AlwaysAnEagle (user info) at 2008-06-16 13:19:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
You're tripping over your own word choice. Apply that Coco Chanel saying about taking one item off before you leave the house to your adjective choice.
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2008-06-16 12:48:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
.... So yes. There are a few posts like this, written both by yourself and by other 20-30 something mothers.
Is it some manner of reaction to being with child? Is it, in actual fact, somehow related to post natal depression in the same way crappy poetry can be related to being a teenager?
Submitted by The_Drake (user info) at 2008-06-16 12:48:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
minus two's resonate through the grassy fields.
they whisper: "stop writing"
The foolish boy ignores the cry
Attempts another post.
"why oh why do you still post?"
The boy,angered by the wind, posts again and again
the minus twos all gather around
and whisper "this post fucking sucks"
Submitted by DudeThatsBOSH (user info) at 2008-06-16 12:41:06 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
my bff jill?