"Shut up!" Yelling this time, staccato, sharp, piercing sounds from her throat, desperate to penetrate, to breach his consciousness and force him to understand her need for him to be silent.
"Just shut up! I don't need your arguments, your reasons, your long lists of how you're right and I'm ALWAYS wrong, and if the world JUST went according to what YOU thought and YOU wanted then it would be just BETTER for everyone! I hate it! I hate it! You and your self loathing I'm such a pathetic victim and everyone should pity me and do what I say manifesto!"
She was breathing heavy, her eyes dilating, nostrils flaring, face reddening. He had never seen her this angry before. He actually didn't know she could get angry. For so much of their friendship she had always been the calm one, the reasonable one, the pacific, placid, pensive one who seemed to live outside of the everyday experience of human aggravation.
Wow, he thought, you think you know someone.....
23 October 2009
22 October 2009
Day 7: Crispy
Sweet, crispy, luxurious. Those were the words to describe the delightful concoction now swirling around on her tongue. Ayla opened her eyes. It was wrong, she knew, to indulge herself so thoroughly on such delights when most of her father's kingdom was starving, but when it came to Chef Chuley's miraculous bit size choco balls, she had no resistance.
Day 6 : Bilge
(def: the widest circumference or belly of a cask)
The light sputtered and obstinately threatened to refuse to shine. A few more vigorous pulls of the chain woke it from its stupor and coaxed a dim, yellow luminescence from the old tired bulb. This corner of the ship was in sad disrepair. Being on the lowest level of the schooner, and also the hardest to access, it was rare for human eyes to take inventory of its state. If the outside hull wasn't leaking, the inside wasn't much worried about. Through most of the ship's voyages this nook remained empty - cursed and abandoned as a misfortune created by bad planning on the part of the shipbuilder. This journey, however, the dank inconvenient bit of ship sported a curious cargo. Twenty-seven ironwood casks were lined up against the furthermost hull, tied tightly together with black horse hair rope,and painted with the symbol of the corn crow on their bilges.
The light sputtered and obstinately threatened to refuse to shine. A few more vigorous pulls of the chain woke it from its stupor and coaxed a dim, yellow luminescence from the old tired bulb. This corner of the ship was in sad disrepair. Being on the lowest level of the schooner, and also the hardest to access, it was rare for human eyes to take inventory of its state. If the outside hull wasn't leaking, the inside wasn't much worried about. Through most of the ship's voyages this nook remained empty - cursed and abandoned as a misfortune created by bad planning on the part of the shipbuilder. This journey, however, the dank inconvenient bit of ship sported a curious cargo. Twenty-seven ironwood casks were lined up against the furthermost hull, tied tightly together with black horse hair rope,and painted with the symbol of the corn crow on their bilges.
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