| color-based : a wash of mint green |
[7 Jan 10\2:27am] |
mint green color swatch
title: a wash of mint green.
she was born chasing after mints.
candy was a fleeting satisfaction. it seemed like the world when she was three, begging her mother "please, just one peppermint, just one!" and finally her mother would relent and reach into that pillowy black bag of hers and hand her a green and white swirly peppermint, all neatly wrapped in that cellophane. her tongue would curl, moving it about until it perfectly was enveloped in that tiny resting spot, where she could let it sleep until it melted into bliss.
but candy only lasted so long.
age seven, she'd discover the power of gum, the five calorie wonder coming in all shapes and sizes and packs lined neatly at the cash register lines, eyes sharp and poignant beckoning her to chew chew chew. and so she made wrigley spearmint her habit, with its pretty green and white packaging just like those mint candies of yesteryear. then she'd unwrap, nice and slow, pocket the foil in her jeans, and fold her gum in third by third until it was all nicely settled and-
the first bite was always the best, spearmint swarming her tongue and overtaking the bland.
but candy was candy, gum was gum, and by the time she was fifteen having three altoid tins and five packs of orbit a day weren't enough. the boys would laugh when she dropped her bag, gum wrappers and metal tins clanging, calling out "kelly, i'm chewing some stride, wanna make out?" or slow-motion popping out their gum chiclets knowing she'd be lustlustlust.
she hated the boys.
so much that she never noticed the packs of big red on his desk. she never heard the sound of hot tamales roaming around in their cardboard box. she never listened to the deep breaths he'd heave reacting to the spice hitting his tongue.
she never knew that their cinnamon mint kiss would be electrifying.
__________________________
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) lovelyable finally got me to write. here is a little something for the time being.
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| song-based : trials and proceedings. |
[24 Nov 09\9:23pm] |
title: trials and proceedings.
soundtrack: "sexy bitch" : david guetta feat. akon
He was nothing if not out of place.
His orange Converse either kicked some red Solo cups or got sticky in beer with every step. What's with the beer all over, this shitty frat party didn't even have PBR, for fuck's sake. If these fucking SAE boys didn't want to invest in some decent beer, they could've gotten the shittiest brand at least so he could sip in style as if it was all part of his anti-classy mien. But of course, all there could be found on the wobbly wooden table was Keystone Light and a cooler of Sprite-and-orange-juice-and-cheap-Vodka-and-Bacardi-and-who-else-knows-what jungle juice. The fucking drinks here. How did they even do this three times a week, every week?
What am I doing here?
Maybe he should move away from the bar and the beer pong tables, which were infiltrated with college boys trying to show off for the giggly girls tripping over their heels and knocking over beer pong cups. It was a game he held in serious contempt: no bonding, no secrets, and just a whole lot of wasted. He peered out from underneath his glasses, left, right, left, right. He didn't recognize anyone, not that he was surprised. His girlfriend was probably snug in his bed right now, watching reruns of "Lipstick Jungle" while spooning mouthfuls of raspberry sorbet. Her classic downtime activity. He would almost rather abandon his manhood and dig into her low calorie ice cream under the covers, and maybe he'd get a whiff of his favorite shampoo in her hair and the ice cream would accidentally spill over as they got caught up in each other and their bodies would be sticky from the mess but they wouldn't give a fuck, because, well...
His mind was trailing.
He figured he probably should head back in. Back to the DJ stand, back to the grind, back to the shitty Akon and T-Pain and Lady Gaga songs that made his ears bleed. He wanted to shove these music-deprived youngsters a huge dose of Crystal Castles and Major Lazer, but oh no, techno was never good for frat parties. Big no no. Only go for the songs everyone knows the words to, It's your birthday so I know you wanna ri-i-ide out. Sickening, yet he did it anyway. He started skimming through his playlist for one, just one song he could stomach listening to and-
"DEE JAYYYY! "SEXY BITCH", PLAY "SEXY BITCH" PLEASE!"
God, of all the fucking songs someone could request, why did it always have to be that one? David Guetta was overrated as fuck and newsflash, "sexy bitch" isn't a "respectful" phrase. Yet every girl called it her jam and took it upon herself to get that "damn, you'se a sexy bitch" reaction. When did 18 year olds become such whores, grinding and nothing short of raping on the floor? He scrolled down and put the song on queue, because DJs always had to please the audience or you were the one on your broke ass by the end of the night while drunk college kids jammed to a high school DJ who didn't know shit about the trade. But who the fuck was this girl, who was yelling her request in his face, as if he couldn't hear her through his cheap headphones?
Whoa.
It was everything he had expected. Long blonde hair in a sweaty, tangled mess from dancing. Smeared black liner and dried up mascara flakes, topped off with a flawless grin because she just "didn't give a fuck." The basic black tube dress that ended right where her legs began, and what he assumed to be around five-inch heels that even runway models shouldn't be relegated to walk in. She was so, so typical in this place. He could look up around her and pinpoint ten replicas, easy.
But there was something else. Then the speakers started their blaring.
♫ "Yes I can see her, cause every girl in here want to be her." ♫
___________________________
Note: This was my attempt to revamp a cliched top 40 club song. I'm pretty sure I failed with this account, and I would say this is more of a part one deal since clearly the female character isn't fleshed out whatsoever. This was basically every shitty teen series I've read (and I've read a lot) mixed into one. I've wanted to try it for quite some time, the stereotypical, highly unoriginal setting. It didn't end up too nicely but putting it up here for me to reflect on is the only way for me to improve, so.
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| meme: day 2; eulogy: the autumn massacre. |
[21 Oct 09\12:13pm] |
simonegiacco @ flickr
title: eulogy: the autumn massacre.
soundtrack: "against the grain" : city & colour
"I never wanted to leave."
The clouds have settled in, a distant fog shrouding the setting sun. Turbulence in our regrets still ticking, emerging, unending.
It wasn't unexpected. A countdown, of sorts, if you could be so heartless. The wrinkles more conspicuous each passing hour, the shoulders drooping with lost purpose. Closed eyes that begged and begged never to open again.
We didn't listen.
The plains abandoned for the urban grime, the patchwork quilt for sterile white sheets. The comforting teapot whistle for thunderous coughs. Wooden porch stairs for blue plastic seats in narrow white hallways. Warm grits for stale bread and sour fruit. The inevitable for the promise of "just a little longer."
We should have listened.
Pale skin even more sickly. Brittle bones even more fragile. And the eyes that once held a spark, now weary of being confined to a hard mattress and a flimsy curtain. Loving hands that once patted our heads found cold and still at his sides.
And still we didn't listen.
Streaks of sunlight traded for warm filtered skies. A smattering of brown and yellow, just the way he admired. Piles and piles of red-orange leaves flourishing under the branches, winds blustering them into the skyline.
Eventually the last leaf flutters away, one that no one can chase.
Eventually the last breath gasps, one that no IV drip can save.
To our squalid huts we'll recede. From our squalid huts we won't leave.
♫ When the wind does blow against the grain, you must follow your heart. ♫
_________________________
Fourteen days Flickrfic challenge: Go to flickr.com and click on "explore last 7 days" link on the bottom of the page. Reload it fourteen times, and each time, the fifth photo in the line-up is your prompt for the day's fic. Fourteen days, fourteen pictures.
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