Status: Just a little cute something that'll be written when inspiration or boredom occurs.
Breaking Suburbia
Chapter Four
Maggie woke up in the cold.
Tile lay beneath the paleness of her entirety, the slickness of the mosaic pattern caressing her skin as the coldest of water poured onto her pruned skin. Maggie’s back pressed up against the glass was going to leave a large imprint of her rounded shoulder that idly laid against the panes for an indefinite amount of time. Peeling herself away, she ensnared the stainless steel between her fingertips and shut the water off.
Bitter coldness ensued.
And Maggie didn’t know if she wanted to leave the bathroom floor.
Never leaving would mean that she’d never have to go back to the computer, she’d never be forced to see the date or the time, and she’d just sit here and eventually die. It was pathetic that her need for seclusion from the world had her crippled to the floor of her shower. Melodrama, that’s another word that appeared on her mental list of describing this unbearably unimportant scene. Maggie had just fallen asleep in the shower.
She closed her eyes, groaning as she peeled herself off of the walls. This whole recluse thing was getting to be rather ridiculous. Her days blended together as if it was all one large chunk of time. Yet, at the same time, her heart raced with this intense course of anxiety at the mere thought of grocery shopping. Self defeating as it was—Maggie knew she yearned for a normal life.
So she wrapped herself in the warming comfort of an indigo terry towel, and she made her way across the hallway. The grain of the wood irritated the tenderized skin of her foot, but she dealt with it and plopped on the elegant floral printed cotton sheets.
Despite the sleeping, she was still exhausted. Maggie’s limbs were sore from being curled up in such an uncomfortable position for what she calculated to be at least seven hours. It was probably more, but what was time when it was all repetitive actions? What was a life if there was no variation in its phases?
Maggie had tired herself, and she was only becoming cooler. The towel remained to hang loosely around her frame, as she was now nestled under the various layers of sheets, readying herself for the much needed rest.
Tile lay beneath the paleness of her entirety, the slickness of the mosaic pattern caressing her skin as the coldest of water poured onto her pruned skin. Maggie’s back pressed up against the glass was going to leave a large imprint of her rounded shoulder that idly laid against the panes for an indefinite amount of time. Peeling herself away, she ensnared the stainless steel between her fingertips and shut the water off.
Bitter coldness ensued.
And Maggie didn’t know if she wanted to leave the bathroom floor.
Never leaving would mean that she’d never have to go back to the computer, she’d never be forced to see the date or the time, and she’d just sit here and eventually die. It was pathetic that her need for seclusion from the world had her crippled to the floor of her shower. Melodrama, that’s another word that appeared on her mental list of describing this unbearably unimportant scene. Maggie had just fallen asleep in the shower.
She closed her eyes, groaning as she peeled herself off of the walls. This whole recluse thing was getting to be rather ridiculous. Her days blended together as if it was all one large chunk of time. Yet, at the same time, her heart raced with this intense course of anxiety at the mere thought of grocery shopping. Self defeating as it was—Maggie knew she yearned for a normal life.
So she wrapped herself in the warming comfort of an indigo terry towel, and she made her way across the hallway. The grain of the wood irritated the tenderized skin of her foot, but she dealt with it and plopped on the elegant floral printed cotton sheets.
Despite the sleeping, she was still exhausted. Maggie’s limbs were sore from being curled up in such an uncomfortable position for what she calculated to be at least seven hours. It was probably more, but what was time when it was all repetitive actions? What was a life if there was no variation in its phases?
Maggie had tired herself, and she was only becoming cooler. The towel remained to hang loosely around her frame, as she was now nestled under the various layers of sheets, readying herself for the much needed rest.
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2 Recs! Hugs for all of you.I'm sorry it's been almost a week and no updates. I'm living in a trance almost, one day next to the other, repeating the same actions... It's summer I swear.
Right now I'm listening to Lungs again. Florence is a doll.