It's cold up here. The only sounds are the scratching of pen against paper and the constant tick of the clock.
Downstairs, it's louder. Footsteps, voices, laughter. It's sickeningly domestic. Smells creep up through the floorboards and tease me with tempting scents of chicken and beef. I'm not hungry. The floor creaks as they walk around, accompanied by the merry chimes of the dozen or so clocks that litter the halls like some macabre audience. Warmth seeps upwards from the lively world of downstairs. I cam hear the telltale signs of dinner being served. The clattering of plates and the delicate ching of glasses knocking together. My stomach growls. I'm not hungry.
Slippered feet scuff rhythmically against the hardwood floored hall as plates stacked high with food are escorted by and army of three into the brightly lit living room. Even from here, I can picture the happy smiles as they sit.
More noise joins the already deafening cacophony as the TV is turned on. Knives and forks clank against ceramic. My stomach clenches. I'm not hungry.
The TV stops. Footsteps rise from the sofa, loud and clear. They stop. The light from downstairs is shut off by the familiar sound of a door clicking shut. I sit back.
It's cold up here.
Just a quick drabble.
YOU ARE READING
Depressing shit
De TodoThis is just stuff that literally is like the vomit of my brain. Sometimes things get a bit too much to store in one place and so this is where I put them. Updates will be whenever I bloody well feel like it.
