Status: Breaking into it!
Never Alone
To Each His Own
Carson slips her key into the lock, opening the door to her small house. The house is connected to other houses lining her street since Carson chose to live in the city. She tosses back her curly blonde hair and pushes inside. At only the ripe age of 24, Carson already began her career as a journalist. One thing Carson always pushed herself to do was "get the story." It was easy for her since she was always the little gossip at school, scoping out everyone's personal business.
She begins pouring her glass of wine, letting out a sigh. It's been a long day, she ponders. Carson lives alone, but that's okay because that is what she wants. Carson owns two cats, but that doesn't mean she is lonely—she chose something to take care of. Sinking into her leather armchair, she sips her glass of wine while staring at her darkened television screen. She only uses it for background noise, but right now she chooses to sit in silence. Something tickles her ankle—the fur of one of her cats, rubbing against her.
Carson smiles and tilts her head back. She begins to wonder why this life turned out so well for her. No one could ever stop her from getting what she wanted.
It's getting late and Carson decides she should get to bed. Time is the only thing that stops her. The days are too short and the hours fly past her. Maybe it's because Carson has never had to struggle or fight. She stands up, hearing a small squeak from the leather, and goes upstairs to get ready for bed.
-X-
Jack rattles the doorknob a few times to his crappy apartment in the lower west side of the city. The key unlocked the door, but it's stuck—again. He finally pushes inside, running a hand through his dark brown hair exasperatedly. The place is a mess and he can hear sirens resounding through the city. Someone left the window open. It was either him or the bimbo he had over last night. Jack worked hard today down at the factory only to be making below minimum wage.
He flings open the refrigerator to find nothing. Jack curses at the bimbo who isn't there anymore for taking his last beer. His body slumps onto the ratty couch as he stares at the dark television. Jack can't turn it on because it's busted. He studies the cracks in the television when he was angry at Macy. Macy isn't a bimbo like the others. She is a lot smarter than that, he thinks, she was the only one who left. Something tickles his ankle—another roach crawling on him.
Jack flicks it off, annoyed. He starts to wonder why he was dealt such a terrible hand. Life was like a train just running him over, backing up, and running him over again. Life is too big for him to handle—unstoppable.
Jack notices that it's getting late. One thing he has a say in is that he can stay up as late as he damn well pleases. He smirks and settles into the couch once more, hearing the springs creak beneath him. Poor Jack doesn't know what life will bring tomorrow, but he knows he can't control it.
She begins pouring her glass of wine, letting out a sigh. It's been a long day, she ponders. Carson lives alone, but that's okay because that is what she wants. Carson owns two cats, but that doesn't mean she is lonely—she chose something to take care of. Sinking into her leather armchair, she sips her glass of wine while staring at her darkened television screen. She only uses it for background noise, but right now she chooses to sit in silence. Something tickles her ankle—the fur of one of her cats, rubbing against her.
Carson smiles and tilts her head back. She begins to wonder why this life turned out so well for her. No one could ever stop her from getting what she wanted.
It's getting late and Carson decides she should get to bed. Time is the only thing that stops her. The days are too short and the hours fly past her. Maybe it's because Carson has never had to struggle or fight. She stands up, hearing a small squeak from the leather, and goes upstairs to get ready for bed.
-X-
Jack rattles the doorknob a few times to his crappy apartment in the lower west side of the city. The key unlocked the door, but it's stuck—again. He finally pushes inside, running a hand through his dark brown hair exasperatedly. The place is a mess and he can hear sirens resounding through the city. Someone left the window open. It was either him or the bimbo he had over last night. Jack worked hard today down at the factory only to be making below minimum wage.
He flings open the refrigerator to find nothing. Jack curses at the bimbo who isn't there anymore for taking his last beer. His body slumps onto the ratty couch as he stares at the dark television. Jack can't turn it on because it's busted. He studies the cracks in the television when he was angry at Macy. Macy isn't a bimbo like the others. She is a lot smarter than that, he thinks, she was the only one who left. Something tickles his ankle—another roach crawling on him.
Jack flicks it off, annoyed. He starts to wonder why he was dealt such a terrible hand. Life was like a train just running him over, backing up, and running him over again. Life is too big for him to handle—unstoppable.
Jack notices that it's getting late. One thing he has a say in is that he can stay up as late as he damn well pleases. He smirks and settles into the couch once more, hearing the springs creak beneath him. Poor Jack doesn't know what life will bring tomorrow, but he knows he can't control it.