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Literature Text
The ordinary moon dispelled the darkness and the night fell into place. It was raining. She didn’t like the rain, it gave her terrible hair and she couldn’t pull off interesting-and-original-without-trying with bad hair, of course. The other girl looked at her. She was puzzled, unsure as usual as to what was really going on. She was a hard one to fathom, The promiscuous illusionist. It was almost as if she knew something none of the others did. Something. Somehow.
Either way The other girls wonderings weren’t helping with the wet and the rain and the discomfort brought with it. She thought of how perfect it would be if it only rained on Tuesdays. Tuesdays and late at night when the world was blacked out and the most part of its occupants were occupied with little more than sleep and dreams, each one occupied with the busy events of their subconscious.
But still it rained, on a Saturday night, not a Tuesday at all, and the company she was keeping at that very moment made any thought difficult, sensible or wishful. The musician didn’t seem phased. He didn’t care about the rain, not tonight. Tonight he was lost, tangled up in The other girl. There wasn’t anybody else there, despite all of the people, and he happened to like this rain and the messy hair it gave The other girl, he hadn’t seen her like this before, but he liked it. And whether it was her or the whiskey he liked this so much that he didn’t even have time to indulge his vanity and worry about his own hair as he normally would.
So the rain continued to fall, but it didn’t matter, not tonight. It was light and unobtrusive and it just reminded the world of how lost they were in each other. Beginning had come and it would inevitably lead to trouble, or at least that’s what the hoped
Either way The other girls wonderings weren’t helping with the wet and the rain and the discomfort brought with it. She thought of how perfect it would be if it only rained on Tuesdays. Tuesdays and late at night when the world was blacked out and the most part of its occupants were occupied with little more than sleep and dreams, each one occupied with the busy events of their subconscious.
But still it rained, on a Saturday night, not a Tuesday at all, and the company she was keeping at that very moment made any thought difficult, sensible or wishful. The musician didn’t seem phased. He didn’t care about the rain, not tonight. Tonight he was lost, tangled up in The other girl. There wasn’t anybody else there, despite all of the people, and he happened to like this rain and the messy hair it gave The other girl, he hadn’t seen her like this before, but he liked it. And whether it was her or the whiskey he liked this so much that he didn’t even have time to indulge his vanity and worry about his own hair as he normally would.
So the rain continued to fall, but it didn’t matter, not tonight. It was light and unobtrusive and it just reminded the world of how lost they were in each other. Beginning had come and it would inevitably lead to trouble, or at least that’s what the hoped
This is the first in a series of stories I've been writing for about 8 months. It was never meant to be a series, it's just kind of happened like that. There's no dialouge and everybody has a title rather than a name. Most of them wont make sense unless read in order, and even then they might not either but there isn't any point of writing so as to get something off your chest and hiding it, if you do that then its not really off your chest, is it?
© 2008 - 2024 justtheothergirl
Comments1
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ah this one makes sense, very good!