Thursday, February 09, 2006

3rd

There was no grace, no triumphant moment of beauty, no sparkle or magic or mystery. It was merely confusing and deafeningly pointless. She saw in her discontent a foreshadowing for the years ahead, however long they would be. The thought filled her with dread and sorrow and desperation. A road of endless agony and untold misery, of a silent, subtle sore that would slowly consume her, even as the tourquoise flashes were meretricious, the orange gloves gaudy. And...the third person was too pretentious, but me, me, me and I, I, I seemed rather more tedious.

posted by Sofie @ 6:29 PM Comments: 0