Status: Short, frequent things of chapters.
Heavy Heart
bend a little more
Quinn stared at herself in the mirror; it was all she seemed to do lately, other than curse and sleep. She held the metal scissors in her right hand, and a hair tie in her left. She placed the scissors on the cold countertop, and tied her hair back into a ponytail. It went a little past her bra, further when straightened, but she didn’t usually bother with styling her hair, she hadn’t for a while.
Quinn studied the bags under her eyes. She looked dead.
She felt dead.
Quinn picked up the scissors again, and put them behind her head, open and ready. She shut her eyes tightly, and then made her first, messy snip. She hacked away at the hair right beneath her ponytail until it was all on the floor, scattered on the linoleum.
She took off the ponytail holder; her hair was now just below her ears. It was uneven and awful, and she hated it. She was so frustrated over so many things and this made the stick inside of her bend a little more, a little more, a little more. Her blood was boiling, her eyes were starting to tear up, and her body was so full of self-loathing and hatred for others she thought she might actually be able to burst, to splatter all over her white walls. To paint them in every emotion she’d ever felt, in reds and black and colors that were so horrible they didn’t have names. Maybe then everyone could look and understand her for once.
And then the stick snapped.
Quinn studied the bags under her eyes. She looked dead.
She felt dead.
Quinn picked up the scissors again, and put them behind her head, open and ready. She shut her eyes tightly, and then made her first, messy snip. She hacked away at the hair right beneath her ponytail until it was all on the floor, scattered on the linoleum.
She took off the ponytail holder; her hair was now just below her ears. It was uneven and awful, and she hated it. She was so frustrated over so many things and this made the stick inside of her bend a little more, a little more, a little more. Her blood was boiling, her eyes were starting to tear up, and her body was so full of self-loathing and hatred for others she thought she might actually be able to burst, to splatter all over her white walls. To paint them in every emotion she’d ever felt, in reds and black and colors that were so horrible they didn’t have names. Maybe then everyone could look and understand her for once.
And then the stick snapped.
♠ ♠ ♠
Take me anywhere, 'cause nobody wants me here.-Rust: anchor&braille
Next chapter I've already written, and I don't like it much, but no editing, remember?
I'll post it soon. It's sort of intense.