She lapsed into a fluorescent adolescent, donning the brightest of graphic tees depicting nonsense splotches of color as trendy art and shaving the side of her head for contrast. It was all so depressing. Her hair still clogs the sink. Even though she’s gone. Gone.
You see, I watched her from afar. High school Marty was moody, and high school Mindy eluded my arm, fingers, and possession. She wore the same stocking to school every day, and only washed them when her mother scowled. Were we friends? Perhaps. She waved to me in passing, then leaped into her girlfriend’s arms. They often attracted an audience. It was only then did I avert my gaze.
I missed her without having her, and she noticed me in fleeting moments. Her heart belonged to another race, another sex, another person. I hated her. But I loved her.
The above piece will be continued at another time. I listened to the song “Dory” by Grizzly Bear, and wrote what came to mind. Needs some work, but that was five minutes or so of writing.
NOW! It’s time for a prompt.
#TwitterFiction Prompt #96: Post an image of a favorite object. Ask your followers to provide a caption for why they think it's important.—
Fiction Festival (@TWfictionfest) January 22, 2014