ok, I know that i promised you guys a story a few days ago. but the thing is that it is still sort of taking shape. so I thought i would keep you all interested by just posting what i have so far.
so here is the work in progress of a peice i have titled Mary.
She wakes up. Her bed clothes are roughly drawn around her, sun shines through the window which is nailed shut across the other side of the loft; it is three pm. She wakes up, but she doesnt rise. Instead she lies there and thinks. She thinks a lot; never about you, me, or the wider world however, only about herself.
She is bored with life; this nineteen year old girl is bored with life. This boredom drives her search for excitement in every self destructive avenue which snake off in dimly lit mystery from the more well traveled boulevard of life.
She is not who anyone wants her to be, truth be told she is not even who she wants to be. Her living space is cold and unwelcoming. She finds herself longing for those pink wallpapered partitions of the room that she thought of as her cell. She did find freedom on their opposing side, but when her stomach is at its emptiest, or her security most in peril, she sometimes wonders whether the cost of that freedom was perhaps a tad too step.
Her thoughts subside for a moment and she smiles. The sun is providing just enough warmth without stinging her eyes at all, she had fun last night, and she has enough to keep her going for a few days.
She reaches up, beyond the extremity of her mattress which sits on this particular patch of floor, marking what she deigns as officially her space in this world. In well rehearsed movements she retrieves a silver plate. She sits up, and draws out a sizeable rough line. Her throat burns but she has since learnt to suppress the nauseous urges this sensation had previously roused in her.
Something is needed here.
There is a boy who sometimes comes to see her. He tells people that he is a kitchen hand, but everyone knows that he helps his brother cook speed. Sometimes he brings her tickets to a show, or passes to a party; sometimes he simply comes over to hang out. Sometimes they use each other for physical gratification, sometimes they dont. Their relationship is no more complex than this, and this suits them both.
I need to develop things here.
Throughout her struggle one thing remains, her name is Mary.
Sorry that it is so rough but i have gotten carried away with a few other things. i would love some feedback though.
so here is the work in progress of a peice i have titled Mary.
She wakes up. Her bed clothes are roughly drawn around her, sun shines through the window which is nailed shut across the other side of the loft; it is three pm. She wakes up, but she doesnt rise. Instead she lies there and thinks. She thinks a lot; never about you, me, or the wider world however, only about herself.
She is bored with life; this nineteen year old girl is bored with life. This boredom drives her search for excitement in every self destructive avenue which snake off in dimly lit mystery from the more well traveled boulevard of life.
She is not who anyone wants her to be, truth be told she is not even who she wants to be. Her living space is cold and unwelcoming. She finds herself longing for those pink wallpapered partitions of the room that she thought of as her cell. She did find freedom on their opposing side, but when her stomach is at its emptiest, or her security most in peril, she sometimes wonders whether the cost of that freedom was perhaps a tad too step.
Her thoughts subside for a moment and she smiles. The sun is providing just enough warmth without stinging her eyes at all, she had fun last night, and she has enough to keep her going for a few days.
She reaches up, beyond the extremity of her mattress which sits on this particular patch of floor, marking what she deigns as officially her space in this world. In well rehearsed movements she retrieves a silver plate. She sits up, and draws out a sizeable rough line. Her throat burns but she has since learnt to suppress the nauseous urges this sensation had previously roused in her.
Something is needed here.
There is a boy who sometimes comes to see her. He tells people that he is a kitchen hand, but everyone knows that he helps his brother cook speed. Sometimes he brings her tickets to a show, or passes to a party; sometimes he simply comes over to hang out. Sometimes they use each other for physical gratification, sometimes they dont. Their relationship is no more complex than this, and this suits them both.
I need to develop things here.
Throughout her struggle one thing remains, her name is Mary.
Sorry that it is so rough but i have gotten carried away with a few other things. i would love some feedback though.