a dewdropper

HIIII

Her mother smiled at her while she cried, despite the tears in her eyes she smiled too. “Do you like my hair, Mama?” She asked, hoping her mother says no even though she knew that won’t happen, she had a tiny glimmer of hope of her saying no. “Yes, I love your hair, it’s so shiny and smooth...girls would kill for your hair, Sweetheart. This is your crown.” Her mother put her hand on her head, making her flinch. “It’s so beautiful, tell me you’ll keep it.” Her mother whispered, her breath was warm and hot, unlike her cold and manipulative personality. “Yes Mama. I’ll keep it.” 
          
          ———
          
          “Mama, I’m sorry.” She sobbed, alone surrounded with mountains of her dark, smooth, shiny hair, the hair that girls would kill for. Tears fell into the bathroom sink, as she cried, “I’m so sorry, Mama.” Her heart ached with guilt thinking about how she betrayed her mother, but she smiled, she finally felt happy. At least now her crown wasn’t chaining her down.

"Am I dying?" The bleeding soldier asked he knew the answer, but he wanted a confirmation, his voice broke as he repeated the question again. "Am I dying, Schofield?" His face got paler as he waited for the answer, his breaths got shorter, he heard a defeated yes from his partner, that is all he needed to know before peacefully going to sleep forever, not hearing his friend's cries. (An emotional scene in the movie 1917, it's an amazing movie) -   zm;     00:51

『　A ghost of a smile was seen on his face when he heard the familiar phrase of “Hey, you alright?” He would always respond with an eager “Yep, why you ask?” His mouth spouted out lies, he regretted every single one, his friends would grin a grin of relief, their eyes softening, sighs escaped their clouded minds. “I’m here for you, you know that right?” He would blink, his façade would fade, his smile would become more strained, “Yeah.” They never cared, he soon discovered that there are liars who don’t feel guilt. Why should he?　』ー　zm;　17:35

『　A waterfall of midnight hair bounced on her shoulders, disheveled tendrils danced in the breeze, a hidden innocent smile adorned her plum, cupid-shaped lips, her face was sculpted by the Gods and Goddesses of beauty and grace. Her eyelashes tickled her full cheeks, she glanced at me and said in a modulated voice, ”I’m not pretty.” I smiled and said, ”You’re stunning.”　』ー　zm; 16:17