Listening to> 'Satisfied' - 5ive
Reading> Y: The Descent of Man', Steve Jones - in progress
Working On> Eating banana bread with espresso ice-cream
Film of the moment> 'Garden State'
Look what Tea made for me!
Isn't it lovely! *grins*
*sigh* I wish I could make great banners like these. Tea's just bloody talented!
Alright. Let's get back to work! *rolls up sleeve and plays 'Lucy In The Sky'*
Lucy. Lucy. In the sky. With diamonds.
*coughs* Now I'm ready. As suggested in the last entry, I shall try to insert a short fiction piece as writing practice.
Ah, erm. Haven't really thought about what to write so... Here goes nothing!
*fourty minutes later*
Damnit! I've forgotten how difficult it is to write something. Plus I've been distracted by Colin Farrell.
But okay, okay.. This time it's for real, yo. Wait for it....
Untitled Fic 1
I glance at my watch. It's five to three, and he's still not here. A flicker of irritation rises up in me, and I do my best to shove it back down. He knows I hate waiting.
The wind whips around, and I curse as my hair follows, sticking to my lipgloss. Spitting out hair and slapping at one's mouth does no social favours, as a few pass me by with soft sniggers. It figures. The one day of the week I actually bother to dress up, and something embarassing happens to muck it up. Would he notice the crisp white skirt and the dainty green ribbon that cost me a week's supply of petrol for the car? Or the weathered uggs I filched from the roommate? Would he even notice that I was wearing my favourite pink turtleneck, because it reminded me of the first time we met?
A boom frightens me out of my thoughts. I had stood beside the campus clocktower for protection against the ever violent gusts of wind pouncing on hapless students. In theory it worked, except when the wind changed directions and snaked around to poke at new victims. I sigh, and check my watch needlessly. He's late. I rub my hands for warmth and gaze longingly at the clocktower entrance, where it is warm. But it was full of smug couples fashioning out another myth in their excruciatingly boring 'love saga'. Although I have no right to say such a thing, seeing as how we've been up there at least twice last month.
The light is dimming, which is a common incident for a Spring punctuated by rainy days and rainy nights. I squint into the grey skies and wonder how much longer I should wait before it rains. Or if I'll wait at all. The anger rises and I no longer care. Stupid bastard. It's the third time in a row! Does he expect me to stay rooted at our meeting spot, taking his goddamn time to arrive while I'm drenched in the cold?
My fingers clench the mobile in my coat pocket. What's wrong with calling me to say he was going to be late? I seethe, finding a slight pleasure in getting angry. He never answers my calls, leaving it to voicemail. And he always has some great reason to explain everything. Last week it was the traffic; the week before it was a held up student meeting. And that ridiculously guilty smile he gives me after each one.
My cheeks burn; whether from the wind or the rage that's building I can't quite tell. I refuse to even consider whether he is sick, or worse, in an accident. It's the third time he's been late, and he's lost any sympathy I might have had for his fictitious ailment. But that traitorous voice inside me is asking whether he is purposely standing me up. I gulp and pull my coat closer. He wouldn't. He... he just isn't the type. And that same voice is trying to reason with me, that he's been late more than once, that he's been purposely avoiding my calls, that we have been spending less time with each other.
I blink my eyes quickly, so that the tears will not spill over. I'm just cold, I scolded myself. I'm not crying over some stupid boy. And if he wanted to break it off, he'd at least be a man about it. Instead of letting me stand in the cold for an hour, waiting. He wouldn't. I try to think of all the good times we've had together: the first time we met in the library, our first date at the miniature golf course, the skiing trip with friends... Yet all I can think of are the times when we fought and his stupid excuses.
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. Perhaps it's too late to wish he would suddenly reappear with a bouquet of lilies, and apologise profusely for being late because he was held up at the flower shop. I look up at the skies again. I'll give him ten more minutes. Ten more minutes, and then he'll show up with the same guilty look he's had for three weeks and beg for my forgiveness. I'll wait for ten more minutes, even when the snow comes tumbling from the sky.
Finis.
God, I didn't know how to finish that one. It just went on forever, didn't it? Bleh.
Hopefully by next entry I'll have a proper fictional story, instead of something I tacked on last minute. But don't bet on it - I have two midterms next week!