Going through my story drafts and picking out the stories that have nothing ahead of them but complete failure. Sometimes, I wonder how odd my imagination can get, before I scroll through another story and find my answer sitting in a ridiculous amount of italics.
"Elle watched out the window as several cars bustled by in a hurry. Her blond hair curled around her face, framing her pale cheeks. Her reflection shone, barely in her view, in the window glass. Her red lips were pulled down in a frown, her dark brown eyes shining with the exhaustion he felt. She hadn't even bothered to straighten her hair today. It fell in soft curls against her shoulders, curving around her oval face and touching her eyelashes slightly. It pained her to meet the gaze of the girl in the reflection of the window. She looked so broken, so tired. As if one of her breaths could fade the girl forever. She clutched the window sill, feeling the familiar sting of unshed tears. She quickly blinked them away. Her heart hurt, and her mind ached to be let out. "Just let it out!" Her thoughts screamed, their imaginary voices dripping with pain and longing. She shoved them down, even as it sent another crack into her broken walls.
"I'll never give in." She whispered. Her breath clouded the other girl's face, and she could have sworn she saw a tear slip down the girl's pale cheek."
Just a paragraph pulled from one of the drafts. It hurts to read that, because it's so terrible. Agh. x,
Dannie.