[ she doesn't remember what it feels like to sit still.
that had always been a strong-point for her, her focus and concentration outamtching anyone in the world. give her a book and she could zone out for hours, unaware of conversations, of earthquakes, of the entire world falling down around her in a pile of hot ash. she could go hours in one position, with the only movement being the slow rise and fall of her chest, her eyes shifting from one side to the next the only indication of life itself.
now? now she can barely sit at all.
she wants to run, to climb. wants to take to trails that lead right on out of town, head underground for no reason other than to look. until now, books had been enough, been more than enough, but now she feels like there's an itch she can't scratch. it pulls her to the woods for a short bit, to a hill for another. she feels like she's let someone down when no one had been expecting anything at all from her, like she had never been given the chance she should have had.
anna feels like she's been waiting her whole life for a chance, and that - for whatever reason - lucas and a girl, with blue eyes and black hair, are the only ones who have given it to her.
it hurts, to think of him in one moment and to remember him the next. to think of him as something more than what he is, something slightly different. her chest still hurts and her head pounds, but rather than wanting something back she had once, she's craving for recognition. for appreciation. she'd loved him at one point, but now that love is morphing into something else entirely, and it's making her feel sick. she knows whatever this is, whatever her brain is doing, isn't natural. it shouldn't be happening at all. but she doesn't know who to talk to or who to go to other than she sees lucas' face and it's bigger and taller than she remembers it being before, and she thinks he has to know.
by the time her phone buzzes back, she's got her coat pulled tightly around her, her scarf around her neck. the cold air is the only thing that is keeping her together at this point, and she doesn't want to break that by pulling out her phone. and yet she does anyway, looking at the response and feeling something between an amused snort and an affronted huff bubble up in her throat. ]
I can't stop thinking about a tree tell me on a scale how screwed up that is
no subject
that had always been a strong-point for her, her focus and concentration outamtching anyone in the world. give her a book and she could zone out for hours, unaware of conversations, of earthquakes, of the entire world falling down around her in a pile of hot ash. she could go hours in one position, with the only movement being the slow rise and fall of her chest, her eyes shifting from one side to the next the only indication of life itself.
now? now she can barely sit at all.
she wants to run, to climb. wants to take to trails that lead right on out of town, head underground for no reason other than to look. until now, books had been enough, been more than enough, but now she feels like there's an itch she can't scratch. it pulls her to the woods for a short bit, to a hill for another. she feels like she's let someone down when no one had been expecting anything at all from her, like she had never been given the chance she should have had.
anna feels like she's been waiting her whole life for a chance, and that - for whatever reason - lucas and a girl, with blue eyes and black hair, are the only ones who have given it to her.
it hurts, to think of him in one moment and to remember him the next. to think of him as something more than what he is, something slightly different. her chest still hurts and her head pounds, but rather than wanting something back she had once, she's craving for recognition. for appreciation. she'd loved him at one point, but now that love is morphing into something else entirely, and it's making her feel sick. she knows whatever this is, whatever her brain is doing, isn't natural. it shouldn't be happening at all. but she doesn't know who to talk to or who to go to other than she sees lucas' face and it's bigger and taller than she remembers it being before, and she thinks he has to know.
by the time her phone buzzes back, she's got her coat pulled tightly around her, her scarf around her neck. the cold air is the only thing that is keeping her together at this point, and she doesn't want to break that by pulling out her phone. and yet she does anyway, looking at the response and feeling something between an amused snort and an affronted huff bubble up in her throat. ]
I can't stop thinking about a tree
tell me on a scale how screwed up that is
[ and a girl she wants to add. a single eye. ]
what are your thoughts on cyclopses?