"Look, man, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to rob the bank but I'm broke and I need the money."
"If you need money, go get a job!"
"I have a job!"
"A real job, not blowing up the city -"
"This is a real job, Stormy. It keeps you employed. I don't ha...
My update was delayed due to covid. Like, ugh!! When the fuck will this shit be over?? I'm sick and tired and so fucking DONE.
*sigh*
I hope y'all are alright. Stay safe and wear your masks, yeah?
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I woke up in a room I did not recognise, buried in a blanket that smelled of sandalwood and detergent... and something else that was familiar but I could not quite put a name to it. It was soft, comfortable and warm; too homely to be one of those hotels I usually woke up in.
Bright light fell through a large window, blinding most of my sight. I shielded my face with one hand, and stretched out the other to look for -
Splat! Came the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting mud. Except... it wasn't mud, by the feels of it. I wriggled my fingers. It was wet clay, with a heavy mix of mica, iron and... quartz? Yes, it felt like quartz. There was also something inorganic mixed into it, making its texture - wait, what was I doing?
I shot up on the bed, groaning as my head screamed in protest.
I was in a medium-sized room. One entire wall was taken over by a big window devoid of curtains (which monstrous creature lived here like this without curtains?!) that had a small balcony attached to it and looked out at a blue sky held up by the ochre and grey buildings of Blue Hill University.
Huh?
The bed I was sitting on was a single, with light turquoise-coloured sheets. The walls of the room were a similar shade but it was hard to tell with the way most of it was covered with paintings. By most of it, I meant that I was sitting in a room hellishly cramped with paintings. Some were stunning, no doubt - replicas of landscapes, still life and portraits of people I did not recognise. Others were obscure splattering of colours that made no sense to me. And yet others looked like they were made by toddlers - stick figures, poorly coloured... things. There was one painting, stuck right next to the bed, of six stick figure people: a woman with short hair was holding on to two smaller stick figures in skirts. On their right was a stick-figure in what looked like a suit. To their left were two figures, one with grey hair tied into a bun, and the other was a guy with blonde hair. The background was completely blue - as if they were flying, with no sight of land - with random curves scribbled around the figures... to show wind?
I wasn't sure whether to be creeped out or -
"Good morning." At the door was a handsome young man with golden hair and an athletic build.
Smiling at me.
Fuck.
Did I hook up with him last night? My memory from last night was a gaping, black hole so if I did manage to score that and woke up to remember nothing, I was going to be seriously pissed at myself!
