Friday Morning Work: A Fictional Self Portrait of Longing

[aliquisa]

Alli, ever dismal, glared through the wide windows at the sunlight, wishing it wasn't warming the cut grass that already made her sneeze.  She drank black coffee with an enthusiasm to match every automechanic she'd ever met.  Morning did not become her.

In fact, most times of day did not become her.  It was nothing to do with physical attractiveness

Comments

[polemically]

This made me smile.

[aliquisa]

Yeah, not kidding about those tourists. Another one just walked by. Ah, the school and handing out misinformation. "There's a Mark Twain room in the library!" What they ought to say is, "Call the director a couple weeks in advance of your visit and have proof of the necessity of your hypothetical entry on hand before you bother coming. Kthxbye."

I so bad want really good soup...

And for my body to stop considering flowers to be a dangerous threat to my well-being...

[sarahlitarose]

I'm a dark and twisted melodramatic incarnation of everything unholy and improbable. I am the embodiment of the abyss. I lack a soul; I spend my life in bitter torment. And my nose is runny.

So much win.

[aliquisa]

I sometimes suspect I have friends only because they find my dramatic monologues so amusing.

[formendacil]

Quite possibly true... your dramatic monologues ARE indeed amusing.

I suspect, however, that I'd be even more amused if knew the details of your real life better, so as to compare with the fictional. For example, I have no idea if this "Adrian" is a reference to a real Adrian, an allusion to someone else real, or a complete fictionalization.

I blame my poor memory for feeling like I'm missing something obvious...

[melatariel]

Your 'A' stands for 'Adrian.' :p

[melatariel]

Hot and sour soup. Yum.

It's a good thing you don't live in the tropics. Maybe.