Original Short - Floral
Sep. 25th, 2005 01:22 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alectoperditaBetter not to ask...
Floral
She thought she could really grow to hate it- the smell of flowers. Rolling out of bed and still dressed in the same clothing as yesterday, the reek of the perfume tickled at her nose. She scrubbed the palm of her hands over her face, trying to rub away fatigue and the barely visible signs of self-neglect she knew to be tucked away at the corner of her eyes. Her tongue was dry like a wad of cotton, but she thought about falling back into the bed again.
But she couldn't because she could still smell it. The faint but sharp tang of citrus and flowers settled permanently in the back of her nose. The same scent permeated her sheets and her tiny apartment. Standing resolutely, she stripped the bed bare and could almost see the odor spreading into the air of her apartment.
God, she hated flowers. Hated the stench of them. Hated the sight of them, sitting pretty in a glass vase in someone else's nice home or just in a garden. Hated them wrapped in a neat bouquet and nestled in the arms of the new girl. Yes, the new girl, she stank of flowers too.
Snarling, she ripped the pillowcase off her pillow and dumped it into the pile forming besides her bed. Who was she to complain? She was never anything to him anyway. Just a friend, always just a friend. She never got flowers, not for birthdays or anything. After all, flowers were the designated gift to girlfriends and that she never was to him.
Not for her. Never for her.
Gritting her teeth, she bent down, picked up the pile of sheets, and strolled over to the window that overlooked the apartment's shared “yard.”
The new girl, like a perfect blooming flower, and she the withering- withered weed.
She pushed the windowsill up with such force that the frame rattled dangerously. She didn't care though and shoved her burden out the window, a waste but anything to get rid of the stink.
And her name- Rose...
Somewhere below, someone screamed, “What the fuck?”
She almost smirked at the sound, but it was there again. She crinkled her nose, and the smell buried still deeper into her nostrils and seeped under the rest of her skin. She almost softened under its flowery persuasion. Digging her heel deeper into the ragged carpet, she drew her blouse over her head and slipped out of her pants. She tossed those out of the window without another thought.
“Whoever's doing that better fucking stop it!” came the reply from below.
Sliding down against the length of her off-white walls, she drew her legs up and buried her face in the crook of her arms. It still haunted her, and she didn't think she could possibly hate herself anymore.
She thought she could really grow to hate it- the smell of flowers. Rolling out of bed and still dressed in the same clothing as yesterday, the reek of the perfume tickled at her nose. She scrubbed the palm of her hands over her face, trying to rub away fatigue and the barely visible signs of self-neglect she knew to be tucked away at the corner of her eyes. Her tongue was dry like a wad of cotton, but she thought about falling back into the bed again.
But she couldn't because she could still smell it. The faint but sharp tang of citrus and flowers settled permanently in the back of her nose. The same scent permeated her sheets and her tiny apartment. Standing resolutely, she stripped the bed bare and could almost see the odor spreading into the air of her apartment.
God, she hated flowers. Hated the stench of them. Hated the sight of them, sitting pretty in a glass vase in someone else's nice home or just in a garden. Hated them wrapped in a neat bouquet and nestled in the arms of the new girl. Yes, the new girl, she stank of flowers too.
Snarling, she ripped the pillowcase off her pillow and dumped it into the pile forming besides her bed. Who was she to complain? She was never anything to him anyway. Just a friend, always just a friend. She never got flowers, not for birthdays or anything. After all, flowers were the designated gift to girlfriends and that she never was to him.
Not for her. Never for her.
Gritting her teeth, she bent down, picked up the pile of sheets, and strolled over to the window that overlooked the apartment's shared “yard.”
The new girl, like a perfect blooming flower, and she the withering- withered weed.
She pushed the windowsill up with such force that the frame rattled dangerously. She didn't care though and shoved her burden out the window, a waste but anything to get rid of the stink.
And her name- Rose...
Somewhere below, someone screamed, “What the fuck?”
She almost smirked at the sound, but it was there again. She crinkled her nose, and the smell buried still deeper into her nostrils and seeped under the rest of her skin. She almost softened under its flowery persuasion. Digging her heel deeper into the ragged carpet, she drew her blouse over her head and slipped out of her pants. She tossed those out of the window without another thought.
“Whoever's doing that better fucking stop it!” came the reply from below.
Sliding down against the length of her off-white walls, she drew her legs up and buried her face in the crook of her arms. It still haunted her, and she didn't think she could possibly hate herself anymore.
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no subject
on 2005-09-26 07:27 am (UTC)