just a bit?

[one hundred, sity-one]

It was cold in the mug, but it wasn't anything like here. I would tell you it was worse but it could've been argued either way. The walls weren't eggshell white or rough, but a pale blue and smooth, almost soft. I couldn't tell you that it wasn't uncomfortable, or even insane-driven to look at, because it was. It wasn't a circle or oval or anything resembling the mug, it was indescribable. I was whirling downward you would think in a spiral but it was more admirable than that, I wanted to shake the hands of the architect who designed this hell-hole, I wanted to look him straight in the eyes to know that he was feeling what everyone in this place felt. I wasn't lost or found, I wasn't in the transcedental in-between area that was near-death or insane people talk about, I was in the drain.

The drain was smooth and soft and slippery, it was a constant fall, it was constant motion movement moving like I was flying and falling and freeing myself from above and below. If it were a pipe I would be sewage, if it were a prison I would be a convict, but it was neither. I kept reminding myself that it was just because I had checked out. Like I said, Welcome to the hotel California; you can check out any time you like but you can never leave. It was almost the feeling of hatred, inward hatred and mass-overuse of failure. I knew that this was my fault, and that this was the time of no escaping, the period of disbelieving traps, but I knew that there was no way for me to attain forgiveness, so I fell.

At a point a remembered the mug, and how the tubes wrapped around my ankles changed colour with the time. I knew that if I was blue it'd be a frost-full-of-freezing kind of week, but when it turned red I was ready and Shannon was ready to make it purple. They tell me that the mug never turns purple, so I must've just jumped. Jumping is different than checking out. When you jump, you just leave, you jump off the cliff of holding on inside you, your soul links to your mind and together they just charge it all to your conscience and tell you to take a break. Jumping is like a bounce-back, a hit-rock-bottom feeling, that when it happens you want to get away but end up drowning in the middle of it.

I knew what I had done, and I suppose I regreted most of it. She was a bitch, that Sunny-bear, but I had loved her. I hadn't loved her enough though, clearly, and now I was paying for it. I was behind on the mortgage cheques and now I was hooked in with the law, in with the guilt and distrust and honest fallen people. I hadn't loved her more than the sky, and soon I would be lifted to the sky, to be with the ones that I love.




This is an exerpt from my blitz of writing I did last week, sort of a musing I just wrote up. It wasn't actually in the fifteen pages, but I'll keep it incase I want to use it. I don't think it's much of the story as is character development. If you want to read more you have to be really good at editing and don't want to hurt my feelings.

Have a lovely day!

Jess :]