"They'll give judging stares, but after a few seconds, they'll forget who I am" (luvfiless 3).
To give in to peer pressure, yet to want nothing more than to sleep. Hence, to lower expectations, Y/N spends the duration of their journey attempting to...
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"Am I noticeable? Not in the way I'm seen in public, but the way I'm perceived."
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A honed pulse assaulted my eyes as blue light reflected off the permanent green. Curse the moon—fat and full, for the curtains were closed, forestalling the treacherous being of natural light, whereas machinery made an exemplary replacement.
Emails upon recommendations further strained my eyes from the continuous white and black ink—the gazillion essays I have partaken in. However, instead of writing, my eyes glazed over the PC screen, staring into an abyss as I counted the seconds, the grandfather clock—two feet behind me—ticking resoundingly.
I questioned if I were to look away now—stray from my desk—would the world fall? Not only had the pulse evolved into weariness, but an everlasting pressure rose in my brain, fighting a well-known variable: exhaustion. Therefore, no matter how much work I had to complete, a game sounded more appealing.
A fleeting smile graced my lips as the thought crossed my mind, but it vanished as quickly as it had come. A notification. An e-mail of importance. Despite that, I hadn't bothered to read it thoroughly. Half of the words were something to draw me in, not inform me. I was on a search—a quest with far more worth.
I'm afraid what my mother considered as gold turned out to be nothing but dirt in my eyes.
