Barren
1/1
The silence is perfect-- perfectly overwhelming as it sifts across her ears, pushing and pulling the air around her like the new moon tide. A cacophony of nothing; and everything.
She presses her forehead to the window and exhales. Hot breath fogs over the cold pane and she blinks, before trailing her finger through the condensation. A short curve upwards followed by a loop ('L') that levels down and back up over the hill of the 'A'. Then 'Y', then 'L'. She finishes it off with one last 'A'. Layla.
Her name is already fading by the time she's finished tracing it.
Layla closes her eyes and relishes the cold that seeps in, a welcome relief to the oppressive air of her room. Somewhere behind her, perched on the rickety nightstand, a clock blares 1:19 in bleeding neon green. She opens her eyes again and focuses on the world outside.
A multitude of trees fills her view-- thin and white, smudged with charcoal-- an expanse of wraith-like sentinels standing watch over the little house that seems to have mistakenly found itself caught in the middle. A silent, empty house. A winter-barren forest.
Loneliness rushes up fast then, flooding her chest and leaking into her bones. She gasps a little and squeezes her eyes shut against the desperate hurt, presses her face against her thighs. An all too familiar situation and, like always, nothing to do about it but sit and wait.
She presses her forehead to the window and exhales. Hot breath fogs over the cold pane and she blinks, before trailing her finger through the condensation. A short curve upwards followed by a loop ('L') that levels down and back up over the hill of the 'A'. Then 'Y', then 'L'. She finishes it off with one last 'A'. Layla.
Her name is already fading by the time she's finished tracing it.
Layla closes her eyes and relishes the cold that seeps in, a welcome relief to the oppressive air of her room. Somewhere behind her, perched on the rickety nightstand, a clock blares 1:19 in bleeding neon green. She opens her eyes again and focuses on the world outside.
A multitude of trees fills her view-- thin and white, smudged with charcoal-- an expanse of wraith-like sentinels standing watch over the little house that seems to have mistakenly found itself caught in the middle. A silent, empty house. A winter-barren forest.
Loneliness rushes up fast then, flooding her chest and leaking into her bones. She gasps a little and squeezes her eyes shut against the desperate hurt, presses her face against her thighs. An all too familiar situation and, like always, nothing to do about it but sit and wait.