Dried.

Till they rot. Till we choke on the smell.

I can't get it off. It sticks.

A city of corpses and leftovers. The town paints it all redder than it should be. Hardly beautiful.

It's ugly.

If this carries on any longer I believe I am going to go insane.

No, mother, please. Do keep distracting me from my work every five minutes to have quality time with the family. Consisting of crude jokes and Uncle Corey calling me Magenta and trying to force wine down my throat. I don't mind. Truly.

My mother talks far too much. If she would stop telling me how skinny I've been lately and comparing my choice of dress to potato sacks for one second perhaps I could ...

( Private, locked to self )

My, someone had the courteousy to knock instead of simply barging in unannounced. Perhaps I should only threaten to shorten their fingers.

If one more person chooses to barge in unannounced while I am working again I will personally cut off their face and pierce it into my wall.