I changed my theme! Hi, guys. On a semi-hiatus. May post the occasional drabble. Still working on all those WIPs. You can still send in prompts, but as always, it might take a while!
if we only die once
Jayne | Major dessert and breakfast person. Ravenclaw, Whovian, Scouting Legion. Hogwarts '78 enthusiast. Lives with thirteen other people in one roof, hence the occasional loss of jeans and sanity. Writes, snaps, sings, writes some more.
I am used to boys calling me beautiful. When I turned eighteen I knew if there was one thing they want more than my fingers curved and locked at one place, it is my Yes’s to Friday night-outs and pornographic magazines, and dancing, until my shoes dissolve with my feet and they carry me home. I just wonder why I can’t be boring.
Why I can’t be half naked in my knee socks watching marathons because they want me in their beds. It was never really a question whether they loved me or needed me. It’s all the same when we eat dinner and the kettle is boiling with the words unsaid. The dishes will eventually dry on their own and my hands won’t be held until I ask them if my fingers looked lonely between commercial breaks.
For once I wanted to be seen through and not looked at. Unlike the hoarded beauty magazines under my bed I want their hands to removed the cobwebs on my skin so that they can read me. So that even in silence, my words buried under the sheets, my body on its own, will be heard and held until the sun rises.
This is my submission for the Jily Week prompt “seasons”. You can read it here, if you want to.
Word count: 677
It is autumn of their third year when he first notices her in a different way.
She’s sitting by the lake with her hair down, a few locks on the side clipped back. She’s not wearing her robes or her shoes, and her feet are in the water. But it’s so cold out, he thinks.