"It's all puddly." I said
"Aye," she said
"There's more puddles than pavement." I said
"Aye" she said.
And the rain went on...
I sat in the passenger seat of Sarah's car frowning at the gold-coloured hooks on my burgundy booties. The car was moving slowly, as Sarah was never in a rush. Old. She's old.
She liked to savour every second of life like she was only given a few months to live. She has a peaceful life. No drama, just quiet.
Reaching out her arm and turning up the volume on the radio, Sarah started sing. As far as I could tell, she'd certainly had some practice. Sarah's quite funny. She reminds me of a batty old character from a book I read years ago.
I don't go to school, so when we were driving off to Aldi I was flooded with a great deal of confusion at the fact that a girl in school uniform went strutting past. Her skirt was pulled up so high you'd be able to see her cotton tampon string dangling between her dainty little legs. While her figure was so, her swagger was far from elegant. She twinkled her sapphire eyes at me, cutting me open with her prominent jawline and sharp attitude. My jealousy came spilling out of the wound like she'd just hit an artery.
Oh, how I wish I was pretty! Oh, how I wish my chin wouldn't mould in to my neck. Oh, how I wish I didn't have big black circles under my eyes.
Oh, how I wish. But where does that get me?
Back at home the dog, douglass, sat curled on my lap, his warmth seeping through my grey trousers. He was heating my legs, just as an electric blanket does. The bottom of my leg had an unbearable itch, but I didn't want to move the bundle of warm, white fluff from my legs. I scooped him up in the end, itched my leg and walked upstairs.
I aimed to do something arty. I had nature on my mind, so it ended up being a silhouetted tree. About two hours later I was sat in my bed looking at it across the room. It wasn't finished. Not even nearly. Could I be bothered to lug my heavy weight out of bed over to the canvas and paints? Of course I couldn't.
YOU ARE READING
Is That A Freckle Or A Blackhead?
Teen FictionI stood in front of the mirror. The bathroom light was unforgiving, to be sure. I wasn't entirely certain if the newly-developed dark mark on my nose was a freckle or a blackhead, but I picked it until it bled anyway.
