Status: Just a little cute something that'll be written when inspiration or boredom occurs.
Breaking Suburbia
Chapter Two
She stared in the mirror, she hated her blonde hair. Maggie never felt like a blonde, and she certainly never felt a strong like for the name Maggie. Sometimes, she tried to recall when she truthfully felt at all. Her life wasn’t always this numbed, she remembered when she felt so intensely, she loved with an insatiable fire, when she had passion, but time was just a shortened childhood that was a mere memory etched in the crooks of her mind.
An old, but well kept laptop sat on the floor in front of her, casting a whitening glow on her sallow cheeks. They weren’t lacking the proper amount of fat to appear healthy; the apples of her cheeks only appeared empty because she hadn’t grinned in the longest while. On the desktop was a list of missing people. It was her sick form of entertainment.
She liked browsing through the missing persons list because her imagination needed some stimulation. What had happened to these people? Were they dead? Were they being tortured? Were they actually enjoying their lives someplace far away? It was all a crazy guessing game that shouldn’t have been devised in the first place. Sometimes Maggie even wrote down their names in a book, reminding herself to write a story about them someday.
That was another thing Maggie loved: stories. She felt hers was inadequate, so she fabricated millions of make believe nonsensical situations in her mind. It was rather stupid, as she did realize she could live the stories she made up, but she kept doing her own little routine. Change and spontaneity is dangerous.
As the sun peaked through the solitary crack in her blinds, she noticed just how late it was.
An old, but well kept laptop sat on the floor in front of her, casting a whitening glow on her sallow cheeks. They weren’t lacking the proper amount of fat to appear healthy; the apples of her cheeks only appeared empty because she hadn’t grinned in the longest while. On the desktop was a list of missing people. It was her sick form of entertainment.
She liked browsing through the missing persons list because her imagination needed some stimulation. What had happened to these people? Were they dead? Were they being tortured? Were they actually enjoying their lives someplace far away? It was all a crazy guessing game that shouldn’t have been devised in the first place. Sometimes Maggie even wrote down their names in a book, reminding herself to write a story about them someday.
That was another thing Maggie loved: stories. She felt hers was inadequate, so she fabricated millions of make believe nonsensical situations in her mind. It was rather stupid, as she did realize she could live the stories she made up, but she kept doing her own little routine. Change and spontaneity is dangerous.
As the sun peaked through the solitary crack in her blinds, she noticed just how late it was.