they abandoned it for a reason.
I have this recurring dream where I'm in a bathroom or locker room with a nonsensical layout and dark, green tiles. There's not blood or a figure, just this idea that I need to leave now or I might never leave at all. There are no posters, no personal belongings, nothing but smooth tile and a horrible sense of dread. The corners are dark. Something is on its way.
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Simon who just can't say no to you.
It has been like this from the moment his eyes met yours, a very terrible Monday morning if he hadn't met you but now that you remembered, it's the most beautiful day of both of your lives.
“Is that seat taken ?” Simon looked up at the small morning roused and still sleep laden voice, you were as knackered as you sounded, probably runnin’ on black coffee and cuppa noodles.
“Yeah.” He wasn't even aware how quickly he said it, “Yes, ofcourse miss.”
He scooted his big thighs together, trying to make as much space as possible for you and as if some divine thought struck him, he looked up — cheeks tinting with red.
“Would ya’ like window ?”
“No, But thankyou for asking.” You answered, sitting next to him and making sure to leave some space because those legs were thick and definitely his big cock needed some room.
Fuck, look away —
“Ghost...” Another man climbed inside bus, his eyes trained on you and your partner who's apparently Ghost ?!?!
“Wot ?” He said roughly, his shoulders pressed against yours
“Nothin’ old man.” The other man smirked and sat next to a Grandma who knitted half a sweater.
“Your friend?” You asked.
“ A little...Simon.” He said, “Simon Riley.”
“Oh.” You smiled, feeling blush creep up your neck and cheeks.“I like Ghost better.” you would've booed if you weren't feeling so tingly and nervy.
“You would like Simon more.”
“I would like that.” You couldn't believe you were flirting on a Monday morning.
One month later
“Ghost...” John horribly snorted, sprawling on couch as Simon paid him no attention.
“Wot ?” He asked, giving you his pinky as you painted the last letter ‘Y’ over hot pink nail polish, completing your H-E-L-L-O K-I-T-T-Y nail art, every letter on each nail.
“Nothin’ old man.” John smirked as you clicked your tongue, beaming up at Simon.
“Done !” You blew air and flashed a grin as Simon brought his hand up to examine your work.
“Done Luvie.” He smiled, bumping your nose with ‘I’ on his nail.
And you also liked Simon better.
Grim Reaper! Simon
Masterlist
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benthic angel
was writing about lake sturgeon for a class assignment and showed one of my friends what i'd written.. he then sent part of it back to me with line breaks to turn it into a poem! i just had to draw something for it :]
poem text under the readmore:
lake sturgeon don't know
that they're endangered. They don't know
anything - other than the muck
at the bottom
of the water column
and the occasional passing
touch of another.
really touched by how my friend turned my technical writing into poetry. i haven't tried to write creatively in months, so it's nice to see i've still got it- and nicer still that i could get so inspired by my friend, since i haven't made nature art in a little while, either :>!!
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