Old Clocks Run Off Acid Fluid and Batteries
Two
Ordinarily, she wouldn't accept packages from complete strangers whose only attempt was to alienate her being, ergo she stays away from anyone who can potentially ruin her general stamina of her tolerance for someone, or even anyone.
She probably accepted the responsibility of the big package because she had downed an entire bottle of flu syrup. Not one of her smartest or even safest ideas. But did it she did.
She even signed it and everything. Well the form, and stuff. She hasn't been thinking much, basically just a bunch of really numb feelings that have comfortably ensconced her in a big security blanket.
The polite man in a starch white suit smiles one of those really annoying smiles that say, and I quote from Willow "a vague disclaimer is nobody's friend."
At current, she is sitting in her also starch white room staring at the brown like box, that, might I mention, is huge. What in the mother lode is in there?
"Oh box." She recites. "Do tell me what's inside of you."
She's paused to think about the sentence.
"Nothing dirty intended."
She also likes talking to herself. Only because she has no one else to talk to. People are jerks, narcissistic jerks. She's had bad acquaintances in the past. She no longer trusts.
How's that for cynical and jaded and so totally cliché?
She's decided on actually opening the box.
"There's a concept." She mumbles to herself and makes a move towards the box that has caused so many thoughts to incessantly nag at her inner sanctuary.
Okay, so maybe she's melodramatic, but what pray tell is wrong with that?
"I'm guessing on a cusp... that this is going to be either a Gazelle machine or whatever, or a new fridge."
She's got the knife that she's been holding for the past hour, what can I say? She's impotent when it comes to actually doing something.
Ripping off the plastic that attaches the sides of the brown box, they all sort of fall away by them self. Which was kind of weird.
But what was Zoee, if everything she touched wasn't weird?
She probably accepted the responsibility of the big package because she had downed an entire bottle of flu syrup. Not one of her smartest or even safest ideas. But did it she did.
She even signed it and everything. Well the form, and stuff. She hasn't been thinking much, basically just a bunch of really numb feelings that have comfortably ensconced her in a big security blanket.
The polite man in a starch white suit smiles one of those really annoying smiles that say, and I quote from Willow "a vague disclaimer is nobody's friend."
At current, she is sitting in her also starch white room staring at the brown like box, that, might I mention, is huge. What in the mother lode is in there?
"Oh box." She recites. "Do tell me what's inside of you."
She's paused to think about the sentence.
"Nothing dirty intended."
She also likes talking to herself. Only because she has no one else to talk to. People are jerks, narcissistic jerks. She's had bad acquaintances in the past. She no longer trusts.
How's that for cynical and jaded and so totally cliché?
She's decided on actually opening the box.
"There's a concept." She mumbles to herself and makes a move towards the box that has caused so many thoughts to incessantly nag at her inner sanctuary.
Okay, so maybe she's melodramatic, but what pray tell is wrong with that?
"I'm guessing on a cusp... that this is going to be either a Gazelle machine or whatever, or a new fridge."
She's got the knife that she's been holding for the past hour, what can I say? She's impotent when it comes to actually doing something.
Ripping off the plastic that attaches the sides of the brown box, they all sort of fall away by them self. Which was kind of weird.
But what was Zoee, if everything she touched wasn't weird?
♠ ♠ ♠
loveisthenewblack.Because she also edited this.
<33 Lotsalovetoher.